What Could've Been (DISCONTINUED)
by Mike Fuentes Camwhore Era
Summary: The seven successful ex-members of The Flock are plucked out of their daily lives and shoved onto a Flock Reunion on live television. But is a room of angry bird kids a good plan-especially when a company of evil masterminds has another idea? not worth your time
1. Seconds

**Welcome to What Could've Been (: We've been expecting you…*cackles evilly***

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><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

I swear, I tried to block them out.

I tried, I tried with every ounce of willpower in my being to keep them away. But frankly, there was _way_ too much history between the two of us. I couldn't stop the memories from flooding back.

When my agent called and informed me, my heart dropped. Whose grand idea was it? Did they honestly believe I wouldn't strangle Dylan with my bare hands? Did it slip their minds that I hadn't so much as_looked_ at another girl since Max? Those mindless fools would regret everything once they saw the chaos.

What was this glorious brainchild, you may ask?

A flock reunion, on _live__television_.

Ah, yes. The flock and I, including Dylan, would happily reunite after years apart. Or so they thought. Truthfully, Iggy and Gazzy would share cold, hard stares. Angel and Nudge would transfigure everything into an argument. Worst of all, Max and Dylan would stare lovingly into each others' eyes. No place for good ol' Fang anymore, eh?

When I was sixteen, I joined the flock again. My flock had attempted to turn me in to Itex, which had been reborn shortly after we thought the world was saved. Because of this, I was forced to leave. I had no choice but to fly to Max's house. As I reached the steps, I heard Angel's voice in my mind.

_Brace yourself._

I tensed, awaiting some sort of fight. But as I cautiously turned the handle and the door creaked open, everything was perfect. Too perfect.

"Hey," I yelled, voice cracking slightly. "Guys?" Four pairs of feet could be heard running down the stairs. They skidded to a halt at the end of the hall.

"Fang!" Nudge yelped, tackling me in a massive flying leap. I smiled, remembering her severe melodramatic syndrome. "OMG! You're back, finally! We've missed you sooo much! Especially Max, but she doesn't admit it. If we even say your name her expression goes all dark and she's randomly angry. I don't think she even knows she misses you anymore, but Angel and I think so. And—" she stopped mid-sentence and let me go, eyes trained on something behind me. "Speak of the devil," Nudge whispered before scuttling away.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Let's just say you should _not_ be here," Iggy offered with a grin.

"Why?" I questioned suspiciously. The front door slammed behind me and I whirled around. It was Max, with armfuls of groceries.

"Because you are a snide, deceitful, miserable little _traitor, "_she spat. "Who has about ten seconds to live." She narrowed her eyes at me dangerously. Uh oh. Max + Angry = Doom. I scrambled up the stairs. Where should I hide? Before I had too much of a panic attack, the obvious hit me in the face. Duh, I'm a bird kid. I can _fly_. I slid open the nearest window and ducked out of it. I narrowly missed being plucked out of the sky by Max's strong fingers. I was now standing on the balcony. Unfurling my jet-black wings, I surged upward.

"YOU ARE SO DEAD!" Max wailed.

"Am I?" I grinned. Calculating my odds, I would have the extra two seconds it took for Max to draw out her wings. I was already about twelve seconds away, so I had an enormous advantage. Not to mention my superior endurance.

She pretended to examine her nails. How uncharacteristic. She raised her head slowly, making me wince. I could tell I was forgetting something, but I couldn't remember what it was.

"Fang," she began steadily. She unfolded her wings faster than I had ever seen before. "Let's not forget who can fly faster than you, the flock, and a speeding bullet all wrapped up into one ugly burrito." My stomach fluttered in fear. How could I be so ignorant? She saw my mask drop for a split second and smiled. She and I both knew that I was cornered. I needed some sort of decoy…but what could fool Max? She knew every aspect of every strategy I had. _Come on, Fang, think!_ I pleaded with myself. But it was too late. Absorbed in my thoughts, I hadn't noticed Max hurtling towards me at an incomprehensible speed.

The collision was, needless to say, painful. She had put on a lot of muscle since the last time I saw her. Unfortunately, she had also polished her techniques. I landed on my back with a forced, _oof!_ The second Max drew her fist back, I knew I was in trouble. She wasn't kidding when she said I had ten seconds to live. Of course, the ten seconds part was debatable, but the living part was definitely set in stone. I flinched, preparing myself for what was about to happen. All I could remember were three things:

1. Her fist racing towards my nose.

2. The raw and utter pain that followed.

3. How amazing it felt to kiss her afterwards.

It lasted a good seven seconds before the shock wore off and she pulled away, mouth agape.

"You have a peculiar way of preventing your death," Max stated shakily. I smiled. "But don't think you're off the hook. Your days are numbered, honey."

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><p><strong>This is the SLIGHTLY edited Chapter 1. I made like 3 legitimate edits and they're not even major. Just small word changes. Thanks SO MUCH for reading! (:<strong>

**Mwa!  
><strong>**The Urban Spectacle (previously known as Sararuhh77, Remidawn98, and The Wooden Spectacle)**


	2. Don't Be Nervous

**Chapter 2: Don't Be Nervous**

**NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS STILL A FLASHBACK AT THE BEGINNING!**

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><p>I was beyond happy that Max and I were back to normal. Of course she forgot the whole 'your days are numbered' comment by the next morning. Instead of the menacing glare I expected, I received a warm smile followed by a kiss on the cheek.<p>

"It's so good to have you back," Max said for the umpteenth time. I chuckled lightly.

"I know, you tell me every five minutes."

"Well, I'm just really happy," she sighed dreamily, resting her head on my shoulder. Dylan sent us a calculating look, and I glowered back.

"Remind me again why you're friendly with Dylan now?" I asked in a voice low enough for only Max to hear. She rolled her eyes at me.

"He's really not that bad," she defended. "He's a great fighter, he gets along with us, _and_ he's a good friend to me."

"But not to me," I muttered under my breath.

"Just relax. I had to live with him for a year, you know. It took me a couple of months to warm up to him, and the same will happen with you."

"Whatever."

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><p>I tiptoed up the steps, careful not to wake Max. I laid the rose down in front of her closed door, but I heard voices, so I lingered.<p>

"I just don't know if it's more awkward than I realize," Max whispered. "At first it was great, but he's getting distant again." My heart jolted as I realized she was talking about me. That was exactly why I had gotten the rose; to prove my love.

"Max, if he really loves you, he'll come through," Dylan whispered back, my body filling with both a sense of relief and betrayal. He wasn't encouraging her to come away from me, but I wasn't exactly chums with him. It was horrific that Max was talking to _him_. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. Why couldn't she just talk to Iggy instead?

"But I'm not sure that he _does,_" Max argued. Ah, crap. If she had just waited a day….

"Well, it's your decision. Your feelings, your choices," Dylan assured her. I anticipated her answer. She had to choose me—right? She couldn't choose that ridiculous fool.

"I choose…" Max paused and I held my breath. "You."

_WHAT? __HOW __COULD __SHE __CHOOSE __DYLAN?_ I thought angrily. I kicked the door open to see Max leaning in to kiss Dylan. That was my worst mistake.

"Fang," Max faltered. "I…I can explain—"

"No," I interrupted. "There's nothing to explain. You obviously love that creep. You were made for each other, after all." I stormed through the room, cast my best venomous death-glare at Dylan, and crashed through the window.

To put it lightly, I was angry beyond belief. Technically, Max was taking the stupid scientists' side on this one. Heck, she was taking _Jeb's_ side! How could she do that?

My current goal: Find Maya. It was cruel, but she was the one that made Max jealous. I had to test her. Did she really love Dylan, or was she just confused? If anything, her seeing me with Maya would bring her running back.

I located Maya's house, landed softly on the front lawn, and took three deep breaths. I rapped on the door quickly.

"Hey, Maya," I began. "I need a favor…"

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><p>"There's the restaurant," Maya informed me, gesturing to an upscale-looking joint. I raised an eyebrow.<p>

"Wonder how much they charge for a humble glass of water." Maya chuckled, and I smiled. I had to admit, she had a great laugh, though it was nowhere close to Max's. Thinking about her slowly turned the corners of my mouth back down.

I placed a hand on the door and pushed lightly. A sketchy-looking waitress at the front eyed me up and down before narrowing her eyes at Maya. I snickered to myself.

"Hi, can I help you?" she chirped, putting a hand on her hip and staring wide-eyed at me.

"Yeah, we have a reservation for table 6," I informed her. She smiled what she must've thought was a sexy grin and motioned for me to go ahead. When I looked back, she was angrily glaring at the back of Maya's head.

"What a creep," Maya commented. "She looked like a female Mick Jagger with too much red lipstick."

"No kidding." We found our table almost instantly, and sure enough, Max and Dylan were seated a couple tables away. So far, the plan seemed to be working out brilliantly.

You see, I went into semi-stalker-mode and found out the next place Max and Dylan were going out. Yes, I have my ways. I arranged for Maya and me to "show up" at the same time as them. From there, the night would play out, hopefully ending with Max back in my arms.

But not more than seven seconds after I spotted Max, I spotted…the rest of the flock.

_Huh?_.

Well, that put an interesting twist on things. Maybe this would work out a little bit differently than I thought it would.

"So, Maya," I said, loud enough for Max to hear. Six pairs eyes immediately fell on me. "How did you find out about this place?"

"Well, I—"

"Fang!" Iggy shrieked. "What are you doing here?" I raised an eyebrow inconspicuously.

"Eating dinner," I said slowly. It was a good thing I was a well-developed actor. This could've turned ugly if I had nothing to say but the truth.

"More like spying on me," Max threw in. "I can't believe you, Fang!"

"I'm not spying!" I argued. Actually, it was the truth. I wasn't spying. I was making Max jealous. "If I was spying, I would seat myself a little farther away, and keep my voice down."

"Fine, you're not spying. You're rubbing your new girlfriend in my face," she spat. Well, she was getting warmer.

"Someone's getting jealous," I grinned. "But I'm not rubbing her in your face."

"Yes you are!" Nudge butted in. "I know everything about jealous ex-boyfriends."

"Me? Jealous? No, I'm just angry," I admitted at the same time as Angel reasoned,

"Would Fang really do that, though?"

"Yeah, he's way above that," Iggy agreed. Gazzy just nodded.

"Is he really, when he's done this once before?" Max said dangerously. A silence fell upon them for a couple of seconds.

"Okay, I'm officially switching sides," Gazzy informed us. Nudge grinned in satisfaction.

"I just don't think Fang would do that," Angel protested. An all-out verbal war broke out. I couldn't keep track of who was saying what. Suddenly, Nudge shot to her feet.

"Fang is jealous of Dylan! That's why he's doing this!" she screeched in Angel's face. Angel followed Nudge's example and rose to her feet.

"No! He's learned from his mistakes!" she said angrily. "He wouldn't even think of doing that twice! Believe me, I've seen his head!"

Well, actually, she hadn't. Mind blocks are a powerful thing.

"Angel's right," Iggy shouted. "Stop getting in her face!"

"She'll get in her face if she's right," Gazzy screamed. They exchanged an—I'll admit it—scary glare for a couple of seconds before Iggy spoke.

"You know," he said icily. "I don't know how I've put up with you all these years. I think I'm going to go live with Ella."

"Fine."

"Fine!" He stormed out angrily.

"Well, I'm going to Anne's," Nudge hissed with narrowed eyes. "I can't take any more of Angel."

"The feeling's mutual," Angel spat. They avoided eye contact dramatically before Nudge stomped out of the double doors.

"Well, I suppose I should leave too," Gazzy chimed in, sounding slightly confused. "I think there's a guy I met a couple years back across town."

"Not you, Gazzy," Angel whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "If you're all leaving, I'm going to San Francisco." The remainder of the broken flock trudged out of the restaurant, keeping their distance and their eyes on the ground. The flock's table was a mess. A few on-looking waiters and waitresses watched us, mouths agape. The silence only lasted a few moments before Max spoke.

"What have you done?" she whimpered, and it broke my heart.

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><p>Judging by the mess at the restaurant, chaos would go down on live television. I still felt guilty for tearing the flock apart, but I couldn't help but feel relieved that they weren't having the time of their lives together.<p>

I mean, I was having the time of _my_ life; or as much of it as I could without Max; but I would've preferred to spend it with the flock. Starring in four movies and making billions seemed wrong when I couldn't see my family. I would've given it all away without a second thought if I could go back to the day when I first left Max.

To make matters worse, my agent _gloriously_ set me up in fake relationships with other celebrities. I couldn't even imagine Max's snide sneer when she saw the magazines. True, she was also making some big bucks and scoring more than a couple of interviews, yet she didn't have to spend time away from her precious Dylan.

"We're hopelessly in love," she would say. "I don't know what I would do without him." Pangs of jealousy, betrayal, and self-pity coursed through me every time I saw her face. The more I thought, the more I dreaded the reunion.

Attempting to shake away my thoughts, I turned on the TV.

"And here we are with Nudge Walker," the host trilled. "Nudge is—" I flipped off the TV in angst. Nudge had basically become the new Oprah Winfrey. All across television screens and magazines, the media was buzzing with news about Nudge's new fiancée, Logan Brown. Though she was only eighteen, she had never failed to be the hopeless romantic. I grumbled as, in an effort to distract myself again, I sat at the computer. As MSN flashed onto the screen, the main news block read,

"Chef Iggy Martinez and rival Chef Tyler Robertson going head to head in a cook-off this summer!"

I nearly screamed in frustration. _Maybe_ I should avoid the media and take a nap instead. I knit my eyebrows together, flopped down on the couch, and closed my eyes. Right as I was about to fall to sleep, my phone rang. I rolled my eyes. Today was just _lucky_ for me, wasn't it? Perhaps it was just karma finally catching up with me for that day at the restaurant, not that I didn't feel enough pain anyway.

"_What?_" I growled into the phone.

"Somebody's pissy," my agent, Macy, commented with a chuckle. "I'm calling to give you the latest update on the interview." I sighed and rubbed my temples.

"Could it have waited a couple of hours? I was about to take a nap."

"A nap? _Really_?"

"I'm stressed! The flock is all over the media, and I don't want to deal with them!"

"I suppose this isn't helping, then," Macy said under her breath. "I just think you would want to know the exact date, time, and location."

"I suppose—"

"Great! You'll be meeting at Karah Kelsey's interview stage next week, on Tuesday." She paused, making sure that I wouldn't blow up in her face. I spared her, but only to hear the time. "It's at 5:30," she finished. I grumbled under my breath some, but didn't press it further.

"Okay. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back to my nap."

"Okay! Bye, Fang!" she chirped. I slid my phone shut with a melodramatic sigh. It would be a miracle if I could get to sleep now.

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><p>As my black Ferrari pulled up to the building, I attempted to calm my nerves. Luckily, I didn't have to greet a crowd; we were going in the back entrance to get ready.<p>

I wasn't supposed to see any of the other flock members until the interview itself. For that, I was thankful. I didn't know if I could keep myself together otherwise. I numbly buttoned my black shirt, slipped on a pair of black jeans, and an expensive black suit jacket. Hey, even though I lost my family, I didn't have to lose my somewhat unique sense of style.

"Hey, Fang!" Macy greeted as she walked in the door. She gave a hearty _tsk__tsk_ at the sight of my jeans. As well as my agent, she was my stylist. "Do you_have_ to wear jeans?"

"Yeah," I grunted. She sighed.

"Fang, you know what the critics say about jeans."

"The girls seem to go crazy for them."

"Fine. But I'm doing your hair!" She shoved me in a chair and combed through my messy mop. Plugging in a blow dryer, she kept speaking. "Listen, I know you're probably very nervous. But don't let any of them get to you. You're wonderful, no matter what you did."

"Macy, I tore them apart!"

"I know, but it wasn't intentional! Just try not to think about it." She quickly blow-dried my hair, gave it a quick spritz of hairspray, and smiled. "There. All done."

"Hey, Fang, you're on in five," some stage hand called. Macy, seeming to know what was coming from me, put a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't be nervous. Just imagine everyone in their underwear," she advised. I chuckled good-naturedly, but on the inside, I felt like I was going to hurl.

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><p><em>-MAX POV-<em>

"Did they have to put me in a dress?" I groaned.

"Honey, you wear dresses daily," Dylan reasoned. "You're a dancer."

"Do I ever stop complaining?"

"Well," Dylan laughed. "I have to say no to that one." He smiled, leaning down to kiss me. But as he pulled away, I frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," I said, emitting an exasperated sigh. "I think I'm nervous to see Fang. What if he's still in love with me or something?"

"Do you not remember the _countless_ girlfriends he's had?" Dylan pointed out. "And they had nothing on you, but they were still gorgeous. Not to mention talented."

Well, that kid sure knew how to put a smile on my face. In the eight years I had known him, I learned that he was better with words than Angel. Well, at least when he was dealing with me.

"Max, you're on in five!" someone yelled in the door.

"Don't be nervous. It's going to be okay," Dylan assured me, rubbing my back. I smiled. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't, but I actually believed him.

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><p><em>-IGGY POV—<em>

"You look great!" Ella squealed. I rolled my eyes. I was dressed in a blue shirt, black pants, and a black suit jacket.

"This really isn't anything special," I argued. Ella laughed.

"Well, you still look great."

"Thanks, Ell." She leaned in to give me a hug.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Usually, you'd turn something like that into a joke."

"I guess I'm just nervous about seeing Gazzy," I shrugged.

"Hey, Iggy," someone called from the hallway. "You're on in five!"

"Hey, don't be nervous. You've always been the more attractive one," Ella giggled. I couldn't help but smile.

"As true as that is—" I began.

"Shut it," Ella snorted. "You cocky showstopper."

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><p><em>-NUDGE POV—<em>

"You have _got_ to be the most attractive thing on the planet," Logan gushed, eyes wide in awe. If my skin wasn't so dark, he would've seen my blush.

"Aw, thanks, sweetie," I grinned humbly. Truthfully, I knew I was gorgeous. But I couldn't go around looking like a conceited diva, now could I? "But what if Angel doesn't think so?" I frowned.

"Who cares about Angel?" he chuckled. "She's only thirteen."

"Well, yeah, but—"

"But nothing. All that matters is that _I_ think you're beautiful. Angel is of no significance to me, and she shouldn't be of any significance to you," Logan whispered, leaning closer.

"I love you," I beamed.

"I love you too." He leaned in, giving me a quick peck on the lips. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, touching our foreheads together.

"Hey," somebody interrupted with a knock on the door. "Nudge, you're on in five." I cursed, my nerves starting to get the best of me.

"Don't be nervous," Logan warned. "Would Oprah be nervous?" I laughed.

"I'm not Oprah."

"You're right. You're better than Oprah. I know you can do this."

"But what about Angel?"

"Just keep in mind what I said before." I sighed, gathering myself.

"You're right. Thanks," I grinned.

"You're very welcome, my lady," he said very, erm, royally, whilst giving a regal bow. I laughed.

"You're such a dork."

"Hey—"

"But I love you."

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><p><em>-GAZZY POV—<em>

I huffed, eying my choice in shirts. Was this too much, or too little? Wait…since when do I care? I laughed at myself in annoyance.

"You're such a loser," I murmured to the mirror. "You're so nervous you're caring about _fashion_." I sat down in an attempt to settle myself. Why didn't I just wear my uniform?

Oh yeah. No one's supposed to know what the uniform looks like.

"Yo, Gazzy," someone called from the hallway. "You're on in five." Before I could start hyperventilating, I calmed myself down again.

"Don't be nervous. Iggy's like a snake; he's more afraid of you than you are of him." I looked up at the mirror slowly. "Ah, who am I kidding? He's six years older than me." Not to mention the fact that the rest of the flock don't know that I was actually living with Jeb since the incident.

I shut my eyes and blocked out the rest of the world for the remaining five minutes.

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><p><em>-ANGEL POV—<em>

"Should I check to see if Nudge is nervous?" I asked my voice. "I don't want to be intrusive, but I want to make sure I'm not the only one."

_What's happened to you? You've gotten much more…hesitant since we've last spoken._

Yes, it's true. I, the little evil mastermind, have become respectful. In fact, I've managed to block out my voice until this very day. I didn't want any reminders of the flock, but what was the point now? I was seeing them in…

"Angel, you're on in five!" an unrecognizable voice shouted from the hallway.

…five minutes.

"Should I?" I asked anxiously.

_Yeah,__if__you__want,_ the voice advised, sounding much like one of the flock members. But did I want to intrude upon someone's mind? After spending time away from using my gifts, I realized how dangerous they were. I decided against it. _Don't__be__nervous,_ my voice taunted. _Or__are__you__becoming__powerless?_

I folded my arms defiantly. There was no way I was becoming the baby again. I fixed the hem of my dress and sorted through the information I had stored in my mind. Regardless of my age, I was one of the most brilliant people in the United States. The flock hardly stood a chance against my intellectual power.

After four-and-a-half long minutes, there was a knock on the door.

"Come on out," the same unrecognizable voice yelled. "Thirty seconds!"

They had separate entrances for each person so that we would be more "surprised." Idiots.

"Five," my earpiece said. I inhaled deeply. "Four," it continued. "Three," I exhaled that massive breath. "Two," Oh my goodness.

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><p><strong>Links for the outfits are on my profile.<strong>

**REVIEWREVIEWREVIEW!**

**Graham Crackers**

**Mwa!**

**Remidawn98**


	3. Tension

**Chapter 3: Tension**

**Hellooooo. This chapter is also slightly edited from the first publication. I'm still not EXTREMELY happy with it but it's certainly not the most important chapter of the book. Oh, just so you know, I made up the descriptions of the flock's wings cuz I couldn't remember their real colors. Except Angel's…everyone knows they're white.**

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><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

"Hi, and welcome to Karah Kelsey's in the evening. I'm Karah, here with Angel Case, John 'The Gasman' Batchelder, Nudge Walker, Iggy Martinez, Fang Williams, and Dylan and Max Ride," Karah chirped cheekily. I could hardly refrain from rolling my eyes. Everyone knew Karah's cheeriness was staged. "Now, these very special people here are formerly known as 'The Flock,' led by successful dancer Max Ride. Why don't you all stand up and show our audience here your wings?"

I rose reluctantly, being followed by the rest of the ex-flock. I avoided eye contact as I unfurled my 17-foot jet black wings and studied the others' wings inconspicuously.

Angel's wings were the color of fresh snow on a winter day. They were exactly as I remembered them, save the fact that they had grown. Gazzy's wings were pale gray with two charcoal stripes. They reminded me of a pigeon's wings, and I wondered if he had been injected with pigeon DNA. I chuckled lightly; it would explain his idiotic bravery. Nudge's wings were angular, and they were a sort of a green-gray. The instant I saw them, an image of a hummingbird shot into my head. Iggy's wings were almost entirely brown. When up close, a few tinges of white could be spotted. Dylan's wings were a confusing mixture of brown and white feathers. I had almost forgotten that he had wings. Unfortunately, I had to be reminded. This brought out a silent grumble in me. I blinked, shooing away my thoughts as I gazed at Max's wings.

They were utterly beautiful. Her covert feathers were a chocolate brown that matched her eyes. Her primary feathers were the same brown with a couple of pure white feathers. Her secondary feathers were a perfect even mix of brown and white. I almost let out an audible sigh, but caught myself, realizing where I was. As the gasp from the audience sounded, I let out a slight smug grin. It felt good to unleash the wings I hadn't used since….

"Now, as you can see, the seven people standing before you are anything but ordinary." I winced. "So are you ready to get your interview on?" she shouted at the crowd.

"Yeah!" they screamed in return.

"All right! Let's start with Angel Case."

"Okay," Angel smiled sweetly.

"Angel, the entire world knows that you are one of the smartest people in the United States of America at only thirteen years old. How did you achieve that level of greatness?" Karah interrogated. I nearly scoffed; Angel wasn't going to tell the truth. She and I both knew that part of her had cheated to the top. Hello? She was the one with the mind powers.

"Well," Angel began. "It all began with a massive load of research. It was like school on steroids." She paused, letting the crowd belt out in laughter. "From there, it only got harder. I checked into several different schools. I pushed myself vigorously then, and I currently push myself even more."

"That's fascinating," Karah breathed in awe. "What school are you at now?"

"At the moment, I'm spending most of my time taking online classes at Harvard." **(AN: Don't shoot if Harvard doesn't have online classes!)**

"Harvard?" Karah gasped. "Can you believe that, folks? Thirteen years old at _Harvard_?" she gushed to the cameras. "That's very amazing, Angel."

"Thank you," she grinned.

"Cheater," Nudge muttered under her breath. No one heard except for me; I was sitting right next to her; but I was still worried that a fight would eventually break out.

"What profession are you going towards?" Karah leaned forward in her seat, eager for more information.

"This may seem a little ironic, but I'm training to be an avian scientist." The crowd erupted in laughter.

Karah smiled. "How fitting. Would you care to reveal some of the work you've been doing?"

"Of course," Angel beamed. "I've actually been doing some studying up on the flock."  
>Hold on…did she mean studying as in <em>spying,<em> or as in real research? I didn't know if I would be able to deal with myself if Angel had seen me moping around, on the verge of obsession with Max.

"What do you mean by studying?" Karah asked curiously. I, rather than being curious, was anxious.

"Well, I've made a collection of folders that contain connections with each flock member to specific types of birds. I think I have all of it figured out," Angel explained. "I'm relatively certain that each flock member has a different species, and I am also certain about most of their species."

"Do tell!" Karah shrieked. "I'm dying to know!"

"Of course," Angel agreed. "For starters, I have been grafted with 2% dove DNA. Like the dove, I come off as sweet, but I definitely have an aggressive side." She grinned as she recounted memories in her mind. To me, however, this was not something to smile about; instead something to grimace about. "In addition, my wings are pure white."

"Yes, that's true. Your wings are beautiful, by the way," Karah complimented.

"Thank you," Angel smiled. I couldn't help but wonder if that was only a mask. "Gazzy; er, John, or whatever he goes by now; is probably grafted with pigeon DNA. I'm sure the entire flock takes note of his courage without reason." The seven of us chuckled halfheartedly. "His wings also resemble appearance to a pigeon's. Sorry, John. Anyway, continuing, Nudge is definitely as excited as a hummingbird when it comes to talking," Angel grinned.

"Amen!" Gazzy called. Nudge shot him a betrayed glare.

"I haven't said anything this whole time!"

"Now you have," Max said icily. My heart thumped in my chest. Her voice still had the same rough tone I remembered, with just a hint of something sweeter and softer.

"Max, drop it," Angel sighed. Since when was she more sensible than Max? Oh yeah. Always. "Anyway, Nudge is definitely some kind of hummingbird. That, I'm certain about."

Nudge glowered at no one. "Thanks, Angel."

"It's not her fault you were grafted with hummingbird DNA," Iggy piped in.

"Careful, Iggy," Dylan warned. "Don't want to be getting on Nudge's bad side, do you?" Ha. Like he knew _anything_ about Nudge's bad side. My heart dropped as I realized he was with the flock for over two years. That was more than enough time to learn about Nudge's bad side. "Besides," Dylan continued. "You'll shut your mouth when you hear what kind of bird you are."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Iggy breathed with a frown, but no one heard him except for me. Either that, or they pretended not to.

"Iggy, you're an albatross. Let's just say, _girls_," Angel informed him. Iggy blushed.

"Shut up, Angel." He shot a nervous glance at Ella. Oh, that's right, Iggy could _see_. But Ella just cast him a reassuring smile. I couldn't help but feel jealous. Not because it was Ella, obviously, but because Iggy had a perfect match. I had my perfect match taken away from me.

"As you can see, there's just a bit of tension between the flock," Karah smiled dazzlingly. "That's what years apart does to you, folks!" Well, geez, she could sure make a ticking time-bomb sound like a meadow of daisies. "Angel, why don't you move on from Iggy?"

"An excellent idea," she agreed. "Fang, you're obviously a raven."

I nodded. What else would I be? A _canary?_

Max studied me calculatingly and I squirmed in my chair and fixed my eyes on Angel. I was unaccustomed to her gaze. But before I could get too uncomfortable, Angel continued and Max snapped her attention back to her.

"Dylan, this is a bit surprising, but you're a red-tailed hawk."

Dylan smiled at Max as if there was some sort of inside joke between them. My heart dropped as I realized that there probably was.

"Interesting," he whispered. Max beamed.

"Max, you already know what you are." Angel paused in an attempt to be dramatic before continuing. "A red-tailed hawk."

Oh.

Great. So Dylan _was_ her perfect match, right down to the stupid species.

Karah seemed to detect some discomfort in me, because she shot me a worried glance, and interrupted Angel's science-y-ness.

"Well, since we don't have all the time in the world, let's move on to John. Or do you prefer The Gasman?"

"Gazzy's fine," he grinned. The audience chuckled lightly.

"All right. Well, Gazzy, no one really knows which direction you went in. Would you care to tell us?" Karah questioned. Gazzy let out a smug smirk.

"I'm actually not allowed to reveal that," he admitted. "But let's just say, it has quite a bit to do with explosives."

Iggy's eyes lit up angrily.

"You know, I taught you everything you know about explosives," he said steadily, but I could sense the rage under his voice.

"Yeah," Gazzy grunted. "It's just that I'm good with them. I'm not trying to undermine you or anything."

"That's what you say," Iggy glared icily.

"Okay!" Karah interrupted. "Let's move on to the next question." Gazzy and Iggy shared a stubborn stare.

"Fine," Gazzy snapped.

"Is there a special girl in your life?" she asked, smiling, immune to his coldness.

Gazzy's expression softened. "Yeah, there is."

If I had been drinking water, I would've done a spit-take for the history books. Gazzy? Had a—a _girl?_ This was the same Gazzy, right? The same one that farted after every bite? The chubby, yet adorable, little boy with the perfectly round face?

Karah squealed. "Tell us all about her!"

"Okay." He looked uncomfortable for a second, but composed himself after closing his eyes. "Her name is Bridget. She has long black hair and Asian eyes because she was born in the Philippines. She's sixteen years old, and she has got to be the nicest and sweetest girl I've ever met," he summed up. "Also, she's going in to the same field of work as I am," he grinned. I was still shell-shocked. The idea of Gazzy having a girlfriend was beyond my comprehension. And I had seen some pretty weird things in my life.

"She sounds lovely," Karah cooed. "Well, sorry that we had to give Angel more time, but we're going to move on to Nudge. Is that okay, Gazzy?"

"Yeah, it's cool," he breathed.

"Nudge," Karah beamed. "One of my rivals, yet one of my idols." Nudge smiled sheepishly. I could almost see the gears in her head whirring, aching to spout some profound avalanche of words. But surprisingly, she kept her mouth shut save the small 'thanks' towards Karah.

"Everyone who's anyone has just been _obsessing _about your engagement to Logan. What are your thoughts on the popularity?"

"Well," she began. I detected the corners of her mouth twitching. That was exactly what happened when she was about to start babbling. "Honestly, the publicity was very nice at first. I was like, _'whoa!' _and Logan was like, _'this is so cool!'_ But after a while, it was getting old. Like, paparazzi _everywhere,_ you know? And we just wanted a little privacy, but we're starting to get used to it. Anyway, we just wanted to say to all of the camera junkies out there, _stop following us!_ We get it! You get it! The world gets it! I'm marrying Logan! So just get off our backs and save it for post-honeymoon if you're gonna take pictures at all. And—"

"Oka-a-a-a-a-ay," Angel intervened. "I'm doing everyone here a favor by stopping you right there."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nudge defended.

"I'm just saying, you talk a little much," she replied timidly, yet firmly.

"A little? I'm a _talk show host_, for crying out loud!"

"Yeah, but you're not the one supposed to be doing the talking."

"Angel! You know me!"

"I used to."

A menacing glare colder than Iggy's and Gazzy's was exchanged. I saw a flicker of doubt flash through Karah's eyes, but her usual perky self kicked in and interrupted.

"Nudge! I have a couple more questions for you."

"All right, that's great, Karah!" she blurted in spite of Angel.

"Who is your favorite flock member?"

Nudge was, for once, silent; immersed in thought. "Well, everyone ties at the bottom, but one rises above the rest. I mean, Angel's totally sweet and nice and caring mostly. And Gazzy's hilarious, and cute—in a little boy way, that is. Iggy can brighten almost any situation, and he puts that little bit of pervertedness in things that you missed when you were a kid. Dylan is extremely protective in a good way, and more caring than a mother could be." My heart jolted as I realized she skipped me. Did she forget? "Max is, needless to say, a leader. I would give my life for her, and she would give hers for mine." I studied Max's expression and saw no disagreement there. So, Max and Nudge were still on good terms. Not that it surprised me, everyone seemed to have only one enemy in this crowd. "But my favorite is Fang." Wait—I was her _favorite_? The emotionless rock? Her polar opposite? The emo (just kidding) adolescent?

"Fang is your favorite?" Dylan spat. I leaned forward in my seat and looked at him emotionlessly. He just studied me in return.

"Yes, Fang is my favorite," Nudge verified. "Now listen to what I have to say before you start ripping each other's heads off."

"Okay," he muttered before shooting me one last glower.

"You may all be thinking that Fang is my complete opposite," she began steadily. "And you're right. I'm black, he's white. I dress girly, he dresses…badly. I never shut up, he never has to. But all of those things are what make him my favorite." I stared at her.

"I'm your favorite?" I murmured. "Because we're opposites?"

"Exactly," she grinned. "Did you know that when the flock split up, I was angry at everyone except for you?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Did you know that when you left Max for the first time, I was more frustrated with Dylan than with you?"

I shook my head again while Dylan threw his arms up in frustration. "No."

"Fang, that's the thing. I'm never mad at you. And if I am, it lasts a maximum of five minutes. I think we used to balance each other out. We were the measuring scales of the flock."

Everyone was silent. That was so deep for Nudge to say. Finally, I was (oddly enough) the one to break the silence.

"Thanks, Nudge. That means a lot." I actually stood up to give her a hug, and she smiled. The audience clapped and whistled, but I could feel Max's eyes on my back.

"The emotionless rock, hugging," she grunted at the same time as Karah squealed,

"How cute! They're just like family!"

"Yeah Max," I rolled my eyes. "And we are family. At least, Nudge and I will always be."

"That's a paragraph coming from your mouth," Dylan spoke up.

"No one asked you," I growled.

"Hey, save the cat fight for the alley!" Karah commanded. "Just one more question for Nudge, and we can move on to Iggy."

"Thanks, Karah," Nudge smiled.

"No problem," she winked back. "Now, I just have to know, how did you become so successful?"

"Well, it was pretty much just good luck. I mean, my guardian Anne just happened to invite a television producer friend over for dinner when I was seventeen. He heard how much I liked to talk and how good I was at asking questions. In what really seems like no time at all, I was on my way to a small set near Anne's house. I became more and more popular and was soon moved to a larger set in Los Angeles."

"Wow," Karah commented. "Well, all of that talking surely paid off." The crowd burst out laughing, and I nearly scoffed. Only I, the master reader of people, could see the envy in Karah's eyes. But before I could study her further, she continued. "It's almost time for a commercial break, but I think we can move on to Iggy."

"'Kay, thanks," Iggy murmured. His eyes flashed to Ella and back to Karah, and I identified a mixture of impatience, nervousness, and excitement.

"So, Chef Iggy, what made you want to be a chef in the first place?"

"Max's cooking," he chuckled. Max glared at him, but I think I almost saw her laugh.

"Was it that good?" Karah gushed.

"Oh, no!" Iggy assured her. "I wouldn't eat it if I was in the middle of the desert for three days straight!"

"Oh, I see!" Karah giggled. I snuck a glance at Ella, and the slightest hint of jealousy rested on her face. A chuckle nearly found its way out of me. But I saw Max's face again, and remained silent.

"Yeah," Iggy grunted. "It really was awful."

"Hmm. Well, anyway, I've heard that you too have a special girl in your life. Care to share?"

"Of course," he exhaled. I could easily see his soft spot for Ella. "She's twenty years old, Mexican, and is taking online classes to become a veterinarian like her mother. She has a sweet smile, chocolate brown eyes, and she is sitting in this audience right now. Ella, stand up!"

Applause rang through the set as the cameras turned towards (the blushing) Ella Martinez.

"Wow, she's stunning!" Karah praised. But her eyes held annoyance; jealousy.

"Thanks," Ella mouthed; unable to be heard due to her lack of a microphone.

"Iggy, you really scored with that one!" she gushed.

"I know, I did," he grinned, making cow-eyes with Ella.

"Awww!" the audience chorused.

"Yes, how cute. But anyway, it's time for a commercial, folks! We'll see you in five minutes! This is Karah Kelsey's in the evening." The smile remained on her face until the buzzer sounded and she collapsed in her chair. "Phew, this job is exhausting. Can I get some water over here?" Her fingers snapped wildly until some scrawny intern scrambled over with a water bottle. She took a large swig before addressing us. "Thanks, guys. I know this must be hard for you. I was, honestly, against this whole interview thing in the first place. Thanks for staying strong."

Everyone nodded before scuttling off to do who-knows-what. I just sighed and settled back into my chair.

"Tough seeing Max, huh?" Karah sympathized. I gave her a questioning look. "Honey, I'm a girl. It was in your eyes."

"I guess it's a little hard."

"Mmm. Maybe what you need is another girl in your life," she suggested, leaning forward in her seat. "I know a few hot and available twenty-one year olds." Was she kidding? It's _Fang_ here. I'm not some sick, horny teenager.

"Nah, I'm okay," I shrugged.

"You sure? I could set you up with someone a little less…unfamiliar?" She waggled her eyebrows at me and scooted even closer. "I've been single for a year. I'm pretty lonely."

"Umm…." I backed away.

"_Ten__seconds!" _someone called from the hallway.

"Crap," Karah muttered under her breath. "Nice talking, Fang." She smiled much too widely, flipping her hair behind her shoulder and sticking out her chest suggestively. I fixed my eyes on the audience. Fearful of Max's expression, I avoided looking at her as well.

"Five,"

Deep breaths, Fang. Deep breaths.

"Four,"

Inhale.

"Three,"

Exhale.

"Two,"

Breathe.

_Riiing!_

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><p><strong>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAWHHHH YEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHhh. Sarah loves reviews. For the record :3<strong>

**Mwa!  
><strong>**The Urban Spectacle**


	4. Again!

**OMG. If you want to hear a song that is semi-perfect for Max and Fang's relationship in this story, search "Just Not Each Other" by William Fitzsimmons. Except Max isn't pregnant…**

**AND YES, I'M AWARE THAT THIS CHAPTER IS EXTREMELY SHORT. IT'S WHATEVER YOU CALL A FILLER THAT HAS AN IMPORTANT PART IN IT.**

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><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

"In case you missed it, we're here with the amazing flock. They've been separated for years, but now they're re-uniting," Karah enthused. "Angel, the genius; Gazzy, the mystery; Nudge, the talk show host; Iggy, the chef; Fang, the actor; Dylan, the singer; and Max, the dancer."

The audience cheered theatrically. Obviously, seeing seven people was not quite so riveting. I suppose the fact that we all had wings could have tied into the excitement of the event, but that aside….

"Our next interview will be for none other than Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome." I nearly choked, but the audience went wild. It was almost a pity that I only had eyes for Max.

I gave my famous half-grin. Once again, cheers erupted. Karah shot me a meaningful look, which I ignored. Max, on the other hand, eyed me skeptically. I tensed under her gaze. Karah misinterpreted this: she assumed that this action was because of _her_, so she beamed. What a ditz.

"So, Fang," Karah practically squealed. "Where did you get your talent for acting?"

"I can tell you that one," Max muttered. No one heard.

"Uhh," I coughed. "I guess I was just born with it."

"Ohhh, a _natural_. They're _always_ the _best_ with the ladies," emphasized Karah. I chuckled good-naturedly, but little did she know, that sentence brought out a fresh pang of hurt in my heart. "Speaking of the ladies, how's your love life? Any secret girlfriends?"

Oh, this just had to come up, didn't it? "Here's your chance!" Macy hissed into my earpiece. "Reveal Amelia!" If I could've responded to her, it would've been something along the lines of, "Shut up! I'm not stupid!" Of course, if I did so, the entire audience would hear and pass me off as a something along the lines of a PMS-ing teenage girl.

"Well, I guess she won't be a secret much longer, will she?" I grinned. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Max roll her eyes. Ha, she thought I actually _wanted_ to date the supermodel Amelia Parker? Not after spending fifteen years with Max.

"Well? Who _is_ it?"

"Amelia Parker," I half-whispered, a trace of a false smile playing on my lips. Of course, Karah 'awwwwwwwww'ed, which the audience immediately echoed.

"I always thought that you would make a perfect couple!" she exclaimed. "Seriously, when she modeled for Jeriko Fitz's punk-rocker collection, I totally thought of you!"

"Well," I grinned. "You were right, I guess."

"Happens to the best of us," she winked. Wait…wasn't that phrase supposed to be used on _bad_ things? "Anyway, how long have you two been dating?"

"Three weeks," I recited. "We actually met at the after-party for Jeriko Fitz's punk-rocker show."

"Told you!"

I grinned, unsure of what else to say. I mean, it's not like I'm much of a talker anyway.

"All right, next question." The audience looked at her expectantly. "What was the first thing you bought once you became famous?"

Well, finally. A question that wasn't painful. In fact, it was rather funny. "Umm…" I struggled.

"Well?"

"A thousand dollar cupcake," I admitted. The audience burst out into laughter.

"A thousand dollar cupcake? Where on _earth_ did you find that?" Karah giggled.

"At a little gourmet cupcake shop in Vancouver, Washington." The flock and the audience shot me dumbfounded looks. "In my defense, it was delicious."

"What made it worth so much?" Gazzy inquired.

"The wrapper was mixed with 18 grams of gold," I mumbled.

"Did you throw it away?" asked Iggy.

"Yup," I joked. Nobody got it. "Kidding." Now the laughter came.

"Why would you need a golden cupcake wrapper?" Angel snorted. I shrugged.

"I don't know. Why not?"

"But _why_?"

"All right, all right. Next question. What's your favorite TV show?"

"Umm…" I hesitated. I could lie, but what was the fun in that? "Desperate Housewives," I revealed. Again, laughter erupted, but Max just stared in sickly awe. _No, honey, I haven't changed. I'm still tall, dark, and handsome; still a closet freak; and still smitten with you,_ I thought to myself.

Suddenly, a massive chunk of the ceiling fell and nearly squashed Angel. I looked around wildly. Above me, I saw a helicopter. A cable was dropped from it, and eight masked figures slid down. They stood in a line, unmoving, while the audience (Karah included) exploded in chaos. At last, a final figure joined them. He seemed to hold an air of authority.

"Maximum Ride," a voice boomed. "You and your flock are coming with us."

And then everything went black.

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><p><strong>You know what I find hilarious? When I get constructive criticism, I get all defensive and I'm like "No! Liar! My story's fine!" But I keep asking for it. And yeah, I'm serious. Keep giving me constructive criticism. I NEED IT.<strong>

**Review, s'il vous plaît!**

**Mwa!  
><strong>**The Urban Spectacle**


	5. Old School like the Old School

**TIP YOUR TOPHATS TO MY BEAUTIFUL BETA, SQUISHY MUSIC! She's pretty freaking amazing, just for the record.**

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><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

As my consciousness drifted in and out, I groggily ripped myself from dreamland and rejoined the living. Or at least I tried to. I found that I couldn't move a muscle, or even open my eyes. For the time being I was stuck with my other senses.

My well-exercised ears picked up tiny clicking sounds, which could mean anything from fingers tapping on a keyboard to rats scuttling across the floor. An antiseptic odor infiltrated my nostrils. If I was capable of anything but breathing and thinking, I would've gagged. It was a smell I had long since tried to forget. I couldn't sense any walls or bars around me. That was good. It meant that I probably wasn't in a dog crate. Either I wasn't in the School, or they had done some serious remodeling.

Suddenly, I heard a tiny groan behind me.

"Fang?" a voice said in my head.

"Angel!" I thought. "Are you all right?"

"As fine as I _can_ be," she replied. "You're the only one awake," she added as an afterthought.

I couldn't help myself from asking about Max. "How is she? Max, I mean."

Angel 'mind-smirked.' "Still smitten, huh, buddy?"

"Didn't you already know that?"

"I haven't used my powers since, you know, the flock split up," she revealed. I was shocked.

"You're lying."

"I'm not. But it doesn't matter. Max is fine, by the way."

"Who else is in the room?" I asked. Angel paused to check.

"The flock and a woman who's on a computer."

"That's the first thing you should've looked at when you woke up."

"Sorry! I didn't think of it! Out of practice, remember?"

"I know, just keep it in mind."

"I will."

"What's she doing?"

Angel was silent. I almost thought she fell asleep until she replied.

"At first, just checking her facebook, but she just clicked on another window. It…it has a list of names. Lynette Beach, Jordan Giove, Carter Allen, Suzette Graham, Mason Ross, and Katherine Ross."

"That's it?"

"Oh, another name just popped up. Jackson Beach."

"So it's just a list of names?"

"Well, it also has some numbers, but they don't make any sense."

"Read them to me." I was always one for cracking codes.

"One, eleven, thirty-six, thirty-one, forty-nine, fifty, and one."

"Well, there are the same amount of names and numbers," I connected. "But that's all I can see right now. What is the woman thinking?"

"She's…crap, she's back to facebook now."

"You can't re-hear her thoughts from ten seconds ago?

"About as well as Christopher Columbus's from 5 centuries ago," she retorted. "At least it's better than blending in with a wall."

"Sorry, Ange. I'm just stressed out."

"I know," she sighed. "I'm sorry too. We haven't had to deal with this crap for years." I sat in a sympathetic silence before getting back to business.

"Can you move or open your eyes?"

"I can't open my eyes, but I can twitch my fingers a little bit on my right hand. It reminds me of sleep-paralysis," she commented.

"It reminds you of what?"

"Fang, I can't believe that at twenty-one years old you don't know what sleep-paralysis is."

"We can't all be supergeniuses. Just tell me."

"It's what your brain does while your body's entering REM sleep to prevent you from sleepwalking. Sometimes you wake up while still under sleep-paralysis and you get the feeling of another presence in the room. This often causes nightmarish hallucinations. However, lucid dreamers can turn these hallucinations into positive beings such as Jesus Christ or a favorite celebrity."

"Wow," I replied, ignoring the fact that she had just let off a Nudge-like brainiac ramble.

"Yeah, a bit off-topic, but it's useful information." I mentally nodded. "Wait, Fang—that's it!"

"What?"

"We need to learn how to lucid dream!"

"Erm…why?"

"Well, you know how you said you're good at cracking codes?"

"Yeah?"

"Right now, your subconscious is still piecing together the parts of the puzzle, but you can't consciously access it."

"Continue," I prodded.

"Lucid dreamers' brain activity while lucidly dreaming is much higher than regular consciousness, so they can access and interact with the subconscious part."

"So I could connect the names and numbers?"

"If possible. But we'd also need to work on dream recall. Do you remember your entire dreams when you wake up, and keep remembering them throughout the day?"

"Not so much."

"See, that's key. You could figure out everything you ever needed to know and then forget it when you wake up."

"Which would suck."

"To put it lightly, yes."

"So what do I do first?"

"Hold on, someone else is waking up." I waited as she talked to whoever it was. "Okay, Fang. Dylan's awake. He can't move or see either." I bristled. Dill-weed was here? Oh wait…duh. He had wings too. I spared Angel my wounded lover's rant and instead gave off a dissatisfied sigh.

"Angel, you fill in the Dill-weed, and I'll get started on the code."

"'Kay, Fang. Just don't get too jealous that Dylan's talking to me."

"Very funny."

"It sooooooooo is."

"Wait, Angel, can you see out of the woman's eyes?"

"How do you think I saw the computer screen?"

"Oh…yeah. Well, can you do your freaky mind-control thingy and look around the room?"

"I can try," she said exasperatedly. "But you're asking a lot, Fang. I haven't used these powers in a while."

"Just try," I pleaded.

"I will." Angel didn't 'speak' for what seemed like minutes, yet was probably closer to thirty seconds. "I got a loose control of her mind. She struggled at first, but then gave in. So I walked her around the room."

"And?"

"There's not much in it. A small desk with a laptop, and we're each under a silver disk. I think that's what's causing the paralysis. My fingertips are just out of the perimeter, which is why I can move them."

"Will the lady remember being controlled?"

"She shouldn't."

"I know this is going to sound crazy, but can you pull yourself out of the perimeter with your fingers?"

Angel shot me an image of herself with a quizzical expression on her face, which would have to suffice under the circumstances.

"Not with her in the room," she reasoned. "I don't think I'd be strong enough anyway."

"All right, well when she leaves. _If_ she leaves."

"Okay. In the meantime, why don't we work on your dream recall?"

"How?"

"Just fall asleep, and I'll wake you up during one of your dreams. Then you try to describe your entire dream to me."

"How in he—eck am I supposed to fall to sleep?"

"I'll coach you through it."

"Fine," I grumbled.

"Okay, now relax your muscles, starting with your toes."

"Angel, my muscles aren't exactly tense right now, seeing as I can't move them."

"Right. Well, let's skip that part. Close your—never mind. Now picture yourself in a happy place. Your favorite place. I won't peek, just go there."

I saw myself with Max. So cliché, but it _was_ my happy place. Our first real kiss, when she ran away in terror of her feelings. The whole banana bread shebang when Jeb mysteriously appeared and whisked the other kids away for the day (we never found out why). That last day at the dog wedding, when she brushed her hair and wore a dress and even put on a little mascara (not that she needed it). So many memories filled my brain.

"Now, you may notice some stray thoughts. Don't interact with them, just observe them. You may feel your mind getting heavy, your thoughts slowing down." It was true. Images of Max were mixed with random scenes such as Lord Voldemort tap dancing down a hallway and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer flying from Jupiter to my backyard. Finally, my brain thudded into a deep sleep.

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><p><strong>Weeeeell? You like? :D If yes, review. If no, review. If you don't give a rat's ass, review (please :3)<strong>

**Mwa!  
>The Urban Spectacle<strong>


	6. One Step Behind

**Thanks for the reviews, my lovelies!**

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><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

This was one of those weird dreams.

I saw Macy perched on a giant bottle of shampoo. She kept calling for a waiter, but every time she did, a spaghetti noodle slithered up to her like a snake and replaced a strand of her hair. Finally, she saw me (now with a pasta-infested head) and gestured for me to join her. However, I couldn't figure out how to climb the shampoo bottle.

"Sorry," I called. She sat down and started crying. Except it sounded like a goat.

"Jerk!" she bleated. I shot her a confused look, which she ignored and instead started pulling out her 'hair' and throwing it at me.

Suddenly, a fleeting image of Max flashed across my vision. It jerked my subconscious back into the depths of my brain and dragged my consciousness to the surface.

"Awake yet?" Angel smirked.

"What the he—eck?" I grumbled.

"Hey, it was the only way I could get you to wake up. Now, recite your dream before you forget."

I scanned my brain, but I could only recall vague bits and pieces.

"It started with my agent on a giant bottle of shampoo, and then there was something about noodles…and then a goat noise…that's all I remember."

Angel processed what I had just said. "I watched your dream, and everything you said was in chronological order, but you're missing a lot. Do you want to try again?"

"Not really," I admitted. If Angel was watching my dreams, I didn't want to risk her seeing something awkward.

"Fang, we need to—" she stopped dead in her tracks.

"What is it?"

"The woman's gone."

"Well, try to pull yourself out."

"Fang, I can't promise anything. I—"

"I know, out of practice. Don't waste a chance to escape just because you don't want to disappoint me. I kind of grew up in the flock."

"That was a lot of words from you," Angel commented.

"It's my mind, I can't help what I say."

"I never thought of it that way," she pondered. "Okay, I'll try." She was silent for two minutes before she spoke again. "I got most of my hand out. It should be easier now."

"Great, Ange," I praised. I waited again, this time for three minutes.

"Half of my torso. I'll be about thirty seconds." I waited patiently. "Got it!" she said out loud.

"Okay, now figure out how to turn the rest of ours' off."

"I'm looking," she shushed. "There's a bunch of buttons here. No labels. I don't want to press any of them in case it does something to you."

"Why don't you press the buttons on yours?"

"Oh yeah. Sorry, my brain is fried right now."

"Just do it."

First, I heard a mechanical whirring sound. "That one expanded the perimeter." The same sound. "That one shrunk it. I'm going to do that to yours so that you can get up."

"Why not just find the button that rips away the field?"

"There are at least a hundred buttons here. We may not have that much time."

"Oh." The field shrunk, restoring feeling to most of my hand. "Can you press it again to make it shrink more?"

"I tried. It only shrinks once."

"They just couldn't make this easy for us, could they?"

"Since when are things easy for us?" Angel asked with a wry grin.

"Touché." I gripped the floor with my fingers and tried to pull myself out of the perimeter. Unfortunately, 130 lbs. of muscle plus all of the strength I could muster in my fingers equals difficult job. Luckily, I had hollow avian bones and years of training. I was able to get my entire arm out within thirty seconds. I struggled until I got my other shoulder and bicep out. It was a weird sensation; it felt like my arm was attached to some strange weight (namely, the rest of my arm). From there, I just used both of my arms to drag my body out. It took all of twenty seconds.

"Great, Fang. Now, you start from the end of the buttons, and we'll meet halfway," Angel instructed. I obeyed. The series of buttons ranged from sending dangerous electric shocks to soothing color changes. Not that we could see while inside the field anyway. Some of the buttons didn't seem to have any result, and I assumed they allowed the use of certain muscles or inflicted invisible pain.

Soon, Angel and I began nearing each other. When we came to the same button, we exchanged glances.

"This must be it," Angel said aloud. I nodded in agreement. "One…two…_three!_" we pushed the button and the disks clattered to the floor. I winced.

"Well, that's the button, I think."

"Come on, let's hurry!" Angel rushed over to Gazzy's perimeter first. "I'll push the button; you stop the disk from crushing Gazzy."

As the disk began to fall, I shot my arms out and tossed it to the side. "Gazzy, wake up!" Angel shrieked. He bolted upright and asked the million-dollar question.

"What happened?"

"We'll explain later."

We made quick work by freeing the rest of the flock, all of whom were awake except for Nudge.

"WAKE UP!" I screamed in her ear. She scrambled to her feet.

"What's going on? Where are we? Did we get kidnapped? Where's Logan? Is he safe?" She took a breath for once and shot everyone patronizing stares. "Somebody'd better answer me."

"Nudge, we know about as much as you do," Angel sighed. "The rest we'll tell you along the way."

"Along the way to where?"

"Out! Now shut up while we figure out how to get out of here," I spat impatiently. She looked at me with big, betrayed eyes. "I'm sorry, Nudge. I haven't had to deal with this for five years and it's stressful."

"It's okay," she sighed. "I get it." She trudged around the room, searching for an escape like the rest of us.

"Hey," Max grabbed my arm. A tingle went up it all cliché-like. "I need to talk to you.

I gaped.

"Shut your mouth, you'll catch flies," she sneered.

"Sorry."

She dragged me off to the corner under Dylan's watchful gaze. "Why are you being such a PMS-ing teenage girl?" Max interrogated.

"What?"

"Well, first, all the talking."

"I've had to change."

"Clearly. Then there's the mood swings."

"Mood swings? We're trying to escape from an unknown location with absolutely no knowledge of the place. On top of that, we're walking on eggshells with all of the raw emotion in this room."

"There _is_ no we," Max hissed venomously. My heart plummeted.

"I don't mean 'we' as in you and me. I don't mean 'we' as in me and anyone. I mean I don't want anyone in this room to go through another Itex-themed drama, and I don't want them to die. So for the time being, we're in this together."

She narrowed her eyes, folded her arms, and strutted back to her precious Dylan.

"Guys, over here!" Iggy called. "I think I found a way out!" He was pointing to a sewage drain. Max rolled her eyes.

"This again? I thought I was done with mud and grime."

"You have wings. Get used to it," I sputtered. "Or have you become too much of a princess?"

The insult rolled right off of her. "Well, certainly not as much as you, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome."

"I was already tall, dark, and Norifically sexy before you kicked me out." Gah. Norifically? Where did that come from?

"Grow up. I never threw you out. You left."

"For you to be with Dill-weed! And when I returned, you stabbed me in the back."

"Only because we were growing apart!" **(AN: When I typed this, I wrote, "we were growing aparty!")**

"You don't know what I had planned for that night, do you?"

She cocked her head to the side as angrily as possible for such an innocent gesture. "What?"

"Guys! Stop fighting!" Gazzy exclaimed. "We're breaking out, remember?"

We exchanged one last death-glare before turning to the drainage pipe.

"You fi-irst!" Nudge sang, pushing Angel towards the hole.

"Don't be spiteful, we don't have time for that," Angel lectured.

"I'm not being spiteful!" Nudge protested. "You're the only one who can use powers to better navigate our way through the tunnels. If you can really read minds, you should know that."

"Actually, I _can_ read minds, and that's not your reason. It's your excuse."

"Whatever. I don't want to fight with you."

"Yes you do, we just don't have time."

"Stop talking, okay?"

Angel smiled sweetly in return. Iggy heaved the lid off of the sewer and cast it aside like the disks.

"She's right, you know," he said to Angel.

"Excuse me?"

"You're the one who has the best chance of keeping us from running into trouble."

"But I'm only thirteen!"

"And you were seven when you tried to overthrow Max as the leader."

"Well, look how that turned out."

"Angel, come on. You're mentally like, what, 35?"

"That's not the point!"

"Yes it is, and you know it."

She let out a melodramatic sigh. "Fine."

"Fang, lift her in."

"Isn't there a ladder or something?"

"Just do it."

I grabbed Angel by the armpits (so glamorous!) and lowered her into the sewer. "Okay, Angel, shoot out your wings." She obeyed and lowered herself to the ground.

"Can you see anything?" Gazzy called.

"No."

"Well—"

Suddenly, the door burst open. The remaining six of us jumped into battle stances and looked towards the door. A man in a lab coat chuckled and folded his arms.

"Well, well, well," he sneered. "If it isn't the great Flock." He raked his eyes over our faces. "I've been waiting too long to speak with the seven of you."

Gazzy rushed forward to attack, but with the raise of the scientist's hand, fell to the ground in pain.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, if you try anything, this ring will send you reeling backwards in agony." We observed a thin, silver band on his finger. He smirked at our appalled expressions. "Dr. Lewis," he called. Another white coat stepped forward and grinned smugly at us. "Please escort these special people to the conference room." My mind instantly went into panic mode, but Angel mind-called from the sewer,

"Don't worry, guys! They don't know I'm here. I'll find you and get you out."

"Oh, and Dr. Martinez," the head white coat smirked.

"Yes?" said another Dr, stepping forward.

Oh my—

Valencia.

She smiled sheepishly at Max, whose expression was incredulous.

"Please get the seventh flock member out from the sewer."

* * *

><p><strong>Oooh, c'est si dramatique! Avez-vous d'accord? Répondre à un examen!<strong>

**Mwa!**  
><strong>The Urban Spectacle<strong>


	7. Desperate Times

**Yup. This chapter kinda sucks. Half of it was written on the computer because I have this huge blister on my right hand where I hold my pen. Gruesome? Yes. But it's more tragic than gruesome in my opinion.**

**Oh, and all of the French (most of it, anyway) was from Google Translate, so if you actually speak French, it maaaay not make sense. I've only taken a semester of French so far, so I'm not good enough to translate the sentences I had to use.**

* * *

><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

Dr. Lewis and Valencia knew just how to make us follow them. In one hand, Dr. Lewis gripped Max's arm; which made Dylan and me follow. In the other hand, he dragged Gazzy, which made Angel follow. Dr. Martinez held tight to Nudge and Iggy's arms. They led us through the hallways, which were adorned with thousands of PhD and MD certificates, as well as other various achievements.

After a ridiculously long walk, we reached a door labeled 'Salle de conférence.'

"Is that French?" Angel whispered.

"Shut up," said Dr. Lewis.

"It is, I speak French," answered Nudge.

"I said shut up!" he hissed. "Don't make me use my ring."

They obeyed, exchanging worried glances. He opened the door so that he and Dr. Martinez could through us in.

"_Le __directeur_ will be here shortly. Don't try to escape, or we'll be forced to take action."

They slammed the door, leaving us with nothing but the clothes on our backs and our wide-eyed faces.

Speaking of the clothes on our backs, we were dressed in ugly blue scrubs. Mine were too small, leaving me with high-water pants and a form-fitting shirt. Angel's were too big; they swallowed her up. Max, of course, looked beautiful; regardless of the sickly polluted-ocean color; but Dylan looked _hilarious_. Since he was taller than me, his pants were capri-like. The shirt was tight and short, cutting off the circulation in his arms and exposing his midriff.

"Dude," Gazzy laughed. "You look like a girl."

Dylan looked down at himself in horror.

"Aw, who did this?" he wailed. I chuckled in amusement, which earned me nothing but a long, lingering kiss between Max and Dylan, topped off by a sarcastic smile from Max.

"I think he looks _Norrific_," she informed us.

"I love you," Dylan grinned. I feigned puking, which was extremely childish, but necessary nonetheless. Iggy high-fived me and said,

"Way to be a trooper, bro."

"What do you mean trooper?" Max questioned.

"Well, he's obviously still in love with you," Iggy explained. "Thus, trooper."

"No I'm not," I argued.

"He's not in love with me," Max rolled her eyes. "He's dating Amelia. And besides, it's been five years. How pathetic would _that_ be?"

"She's right," I agreed all-too-fast. "I may say stupid words like Norrific by accident, but I'm not that pathetic."

Everyone but Max and Angel cast me uncertain glances. Of course, there was no hiding it from Angel. She already knew, which was why she cast me a smile and a thumbs up. And if Max was anything like her fifteen year old self, she was Ms. Anti-Lovey-Mushy (Dylan being the unfortunate exception) and wouldn't believe she loved anyone, or that anyone loved her.

For the second time that evening, the doors burst open. In strode a snobby-looking man with a weak handlebar mustache. He pressed a button on his wristwatch and a screen lowered itself and rested on the wall behind him.

"Bonjour," he said. "Asseyez-vous, s'il vous plaît." The screen translated his words.

**Hello,** it read. **Please sit**. We obeyed.

"Je m'appelle Dr. Cailloux. Je suis le directeur de cette société, Boucles D'or."

**My name is Dr. Cailloux. I am the director of this company, Goldilocks.**

"N'hésitez pas à parler. L'écran derrière moi se traduira ce que vous dites en français."

**Feel free to speak. The screen behind me will translate anything you say into French.**We looked. Sure enough, when Nudge let off a small, "really?" the screen read, 'vraiment?'

"Oui," Dr. Cailloux said with a grin that did not suit his face. "Maintenant, aux affaires. Avant de commencer, avez-vous des questions?"

**Now, down to business. Before we begin, do you have any questions?**

"Um, well, where are we?" Nudge asked. Dr. Cailloux shifted his eyes up to the screen before replying.

"Vous êtes dans une partie de langue française du Canada. Vous avez été amené ici parce que c'est l'installation qui vous permettra de mieux servir vos fins."

**You are in a French-speaking part of Canada. You were brought here because this is the facility that will allow you to best serve your purpose.**

"And what is that purpose, exactly?" Max asked.

"Eh bien, je suis sur le point de révéler que."

**Well, I'm about to reveal that.**

"Tout d'abord, j'espère que vous viendrez à réaliser que vous ne pouvez échapper. Notre technologie est bien plus avancée que Itexicon, et nous offrent certainement une meilleure sécurité que cette école Godforsaken."

**First, I hope you'll come to realize that you cannot escape. Our technology is far more advanced than Itexicon's, and we certainly offer better security than that godforsaken School.**

We exchanged hopeless glances and eyerolls.

"Maintenant, avant que vous êtes prêt pour votre but, vous participerez à l'entraînement en force vigoureuse."

**Now, before you are prepared for your purpose, you will participate in vigorous strength training.**

"You still haven't told us what our purposes are," Max glared.

"Je suis arrive."

**I'm getting to that.**

"Vous voyez, le monde est un endroit très sombre. Il est monté avec la maladie, de criminels, et bien d'autres choses horribles. Nous avons ici à plan de Boucles D'or de le reconstruire."

**You see, the world is a very dismal place. It is ridden with disease, criminals, and many other horrible things. We here at Goldilocks plan to rebuild it.**

"Not this again," Iggy groaned. "Wait a minute…where's Ella?"

Dr. Cailloux ignored him. "Aux grands maux les grands remèdes. Droite, Gazzy?"

**Desperate times call for desperate measures. Right, Gazzy?**

Gazzy shrugged. "He's right."

"C'est là que les sept d'entre vous viennent de."

**That's where the seven of you come in.**

"Vous assumerez les identités diverses qui gagner la faveur du public américain. Vous aurez à les convaincre que notre plan est un bon, ce qui rendra plus facile pour nousde suivre à travers avec lui."

**You will assume various identities which gain favor of the American public. You will convince them that our plan is a good one, which will make it easier for us to follow through with it.**

"Même si vous faites cela, vous choisissez à chaque dix hommes et dix femmes qui sont dignes de vivre dans l'utopie. Nous allons utiliser la cryogénie sur eux. Après l'apocalypse, ils vont reconstruire le monde à vos côtés."

**While you are doing this, you will each choose ten males and ten females that will live in Utopia. We will use cryogenics on them. After the apocalypse, they will rebuild the world alongside you.**

"Quand le public américain est convaincu de la bonté de ce plan, nous allons commencer la destruction du monde entier. C'est tout ce que vous devez savoir en ce moment. Avez-vous des questions?"

**When the American public is convinced of the goodness of the plan, we will begin worldwide destruction. That is all you need to know right now. Do you have any questions?**

"Who says we're going to follow through with this?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Vous n'avez pas le choix," Dr. Cailloux smirked.

**You don't have a choice.**

"Will there be any genetically-enhancing experiments on people? Because I still think that's wrong," said Nudge.

"Non."

**No.**

"So it'll be the exact same humans living in Utopia?"

"Bien sûr que non!"

**Of course not!**

"That doesn't make any sense," Angel protested.

"Vous glisserez un élixir dans les mâles des femelles et des boissons avant de lescryogéniser."

**You will slip an elixir into the males and females drinks before they are cryogenized.**

"What will it do to them?"

"Il va simplement effacer leur esprits et les rendre plus enclins à prendre des décisions pour le bien commun."

**It will simply clear their minds and make them more prone to making decisions for the common good.**

"That's all?"

"Oui. Avez-vous d'autres questions?"

**Yes. Do you have other questions?**

"No," we all said at the same time. I did actually have questions, but none that would be acceptable to ask.

"Bon. Vous commencerez votre entraînement physique de demain. Maintenant, certainsmédecins vont vous accompagner à votre chambre de sommeil."

**Good. You will begin your physical training tomorrow. Now, some doctors will escort you to your sleeping chambers.**

Dr. Lewis and Dr. Martinez returned, grabbing the same flock members by the arms and leading us down a different hallway.

"Girls on the right, boys on the left," Dr. Lewis spat.

"Sorry," Dr. Martinez mouthed to Max. Max simply shot her one of her best death-glares and otherwise ignored her. We had no choice but to obey Dr. Lewis, and I trudged into the left door behind Iggy. Once the door was shut, I asked,

"We're not actually going to go through with this, are we?"

"I don't think we have a choice," Gazzy admitted.

"But the second we get a chance, we're escaping, right?"

Iggy sighed. "I don't know if there's going to _be_ a chance."

* * *

><p><strong>Mwa!<br>****The Urban Spectacle**


	8. Settling

**CONGRATULATIONS TO NA SWIMGAL WHO WAS THE 100th REVIEWER! WHOOOOOOO, PARTY!**

**THIS CHAPTER WAS UNFORTUNATELY NOT BETA-ED. SquishyMusic didn't get back to me in time /:**

* * *

><p><strong>Max POV<strong>

The room was painted an atrocious mustard green-yellow color. There were tiny pink flowers on the bed sheets and all of the furniture was stained a murderous dark brown.

"Yuck," Nudge gagged. "Someone needs to hire a new interior designer." She walked over to the closet and held up a shirt. "Not only have I seen Logan's Grandmother wearing this, but it makes me look green."

"Can't you talk about something else?" Angel pleaded.

"Nope. This is my panic mode." She paused to observe the other clothing items in the dresser. "Ew. Logan's Grand_father_ would wear this." She held up an oversized navy blue lumberjack shirt. "And who would even think of wearing these shorts? This is a fashion emergency." She walked over to the door and tried to open it. "Locked, of course." She began banging on the door. "Hello! Anyone there? Can I get some scissors, a needle, and some white thread?" Hello?"

She sighed in defeat and slumped down beside the door.

"What did you say?" Dr. Lewis called from the other side of the door.

"Dr. Lewis! Thank goodness. Can I get some scissors, a needle, and white thread?"

"For what?" he spat.

"I want to do some remodeling on our wardrobes. They're hideous."

"Deal with it." I heard footsteps walking away.

"No, no, no, wait! I—erm, a button fell off on one of the shirts! Yeah! And I, uh, wanted to sew it back on!" There was no reply. "Dr. Lewis?"

"Nudge, it's just clothes," I sighed.

"Just clothes? _Just_ clothes? Maximum Ride, fashion is an _art_. The people of the world are very judgmental. They won't give a second's thought about judging your clothing."

"So?"

"_So_? Do you want millions of criticizers and fan loss?"

"I'm not going to lose fans over what I wear."

"Oh, it's been known to happen. Just look at Bridget Mendler!"

"She was never even very famous."

"That's not the point. People think she dresses weird, so they don't follow her."

"Nudge, if it gets you to get shut up, I won't say another word about your clothes."

"Fine."

No more than two seconds later, we heard a knock at the door.

"Umm…come in?" I said tentatively. My mom walked in and my jaw stiffened.

"Hello, _mother_."

"Max, dear! Look how you've grown!"

"Oh, save it," I hissed.

"Honey, I know you're upset—"

"Upset? I have been betrayed by my own mother. So yeah, I guess you could say that."

"It'll all make sense to you soon. This is the right place to be," she tried. I rolled my eyes.

"Not only was that a weak attempt to convert me to the master plan, but you actually let them brainwash you into thinking all of this death is okay."

"Well, it's better for the common good."

"You do realize that you have to die too, right?"

"Oh, but Max! That's one of the wonderful things. Employees _don't_ have to die!"

"So they blackmailed you?"

"Not exactly. There is, of course, the off-chance that I would've been one of the 140 American survivors."

"Did you even want to work here?"

"Of course!"

"Wow, that still doesn't make it any better. Surprise, surprise."

She pursed her lips. "Listen, honey, I hate to leave like this, but I've got a job to do. Here's your sewing stuff, Nudge. For the record, I didn't pick out those clothes, nor did I choose this awful paint color." She smiled at us before turning to leave. "Bye, girls!"

"Thanks, Dr. M," Nudge grinned. I glared at her. "What? She brought my sewing stuff."

Nudge pulled all of the clothes out of the closet and dresser (except for the middle drawer, for some reason) and began sorting them into three piles.

"Aren't we going to talk escape strategy?" I reasoned. Nudge held up her left hand discreetly, crossed her fingers, and tapped it against her right; which was our sign for video cameras/voice recorders.

"No, he said there was no hope of escaping, remember? They probably have all sorts of random stuff set up that keeps us in here."

"Right," I went along. In my head, Angel said,

"Don't mention anything about escaping while we're here. But also, don't act like you really want to go along with it or else they'll suspect you. Ease into it, and when their backs are turned, we'll escape."

I gave a small nod that would be undetectable to security cameras.

"So, Nudge," Angel said aloud. "Which pile's mine?"

Nudge gestured to the piles that had the most pinks and purples. "The colors compliment your skin tone and hair color," she explained. "I've got the blue pile, and Max has the other one."

My pile had mostly blacks, browns, and grays. I picked up a corner of what appeared to be a pretty fabric, but turned out to be a yellow muumuu dress.

"Um, Nudge?" I held up the dress. She giggled.

"That one's going to be a big project." She tossed the last few unsorted garments into their designated piles and clapped her hands together once.

"Okay. Now I can get started on rebuilding. What should I do first?"

I chucked the muumuu at her. "I dare you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Challenge accepted."

Her scissors, needle and thread worked wildly, cutting off the sleeves and shortening the hem. While she worked, Angel and I tried on ugly garments for laughs.

"You look like Jeb," Angel cackled as I strutted around the room in a gray polo and plaid pants.

"Don't I?" I waggled my eyebrows, which just made her laugh even harder. "Your turn."

She selected a brown paisley cardigan and a floor-length leather skirt.

"Hello, Goodwill," I snorted. She did a little shimmy-like dance move and twirled around.

"Watch out, boys," she joked.

Eventually, our laughter died down and we lay exhausted on the beds. Finally, Nudge stood up in triumph.

"Done!"

She held up a completely refurbished dress. The sleeves had been trimmed to a more attractive length, and the hem had been cut and resewn at various locations. There was actually a waist, unlike before. Angel and I oohed and ahhed at her work.

"Nudge, you have a gift!" Angel exclaimed.

"I know," Nudge giggled.

"Hey, listen, I'm sorry about the fight when we split up. I was way out of line," Angel said.

Nudge smiled. "Me too. Our sisterhood is too valuable to lose over something so ridiculous."

They hugged it out while I watched, appalled. An hour ago, they were at each other's throats. Now, they were best friends. Do I smell something fishy?

"We're about to go on a blackout," a voice called from the hallway. "Airplanes are approaching and they can't know we're here." The man left without another word.

"What time is it?" Angel asked. Nudge looked for a clock. She found it shoved halfway between the dresser and the closet.

"10:30 PM."

"Let's get some rest, guys. We have training in the morning."

"Okay."

We settled into our beds.

"Good night," I called.

"Night, Angel and Nudge replied simultaneously.

* * *

><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

Iggy held up his left hand, crossed his fingers, and tapped it against his right.

"Oh yeah," Gazzy murmured to himself. "Dibs," he called, plopping himself down on the bed nearest the likely indestructible window. Iggy chose the one closest to the wall, leaving Dylan and me the ones in-between.

I, feeling momentarily out of character, gave myself a running start and leaped onto the comfiest-looking bed. Of course, it still felt like a mattress full of bricks, but I maintained my manliness and acted as if it didn't hurt.

"What was that?" Iggy laughed.

"Who knows," I replied with a half-grin.

Dylan sighed. "I miss Max," he complained.

"No one cares," I growled. He looked at me sharply.

"You know what? You're just jealous."

"You wish I was jealous."

"Why would I wish that?"

"Because then you'd actually have something over me."

"I have plenty over you, thanks. One of those things being Max."

"Have you already forgotten? I'm dating a supermodel," I retaliated. Though it was a fake relationship, no one in the flock save Angel suspected a thing. Okay, well, maybe they_suspected_, but they had no proof.

"Yeah, a supermodel who wouldn't be very super if she didn't cake all that crap on her face."

"Actually, she doesn't cake _any_ crap on her face. Her skin is just perfect."

"You would know," Dylan rolled his eyes.

"I would. And look who's already won two Grammys."

"The same person who only won because he can make perky little girls swoon over him. What does that make you, a pedophile?"

"You're just trying to draw attention away from your squeaky voice."

"We weren't talking about my voice."

"You mean that Grammy-less thing that comes out of your mouth?"

"Balls," Gazzy threw in. Dylan and I looked at him in utter disbelief. "What? Dylan was about to lose the argument. I was just saving his ass."

"It's true," Iggy agreed. "Dylan was failing."

"Thanks, guys," Dylan said sarcastically.

"Welcome," Gazzy smirked.

"Well," Iggy said, standing up. "I'm going to go exploring."

"Where? There's nothing here," Dylan asked.

"Au contraire, my friend. There is in fact a closet, a dresser, four beds, and a bathroom. So many explosive possibilities."

Gazzy leapt to his feet. "I don't care how much you hate me. I'm coming with you."

Iggy laughed. "I don't hate you. That was years ago."

"Then why have you been acting so chilly?"

"I don't know, I guess I just thought you still hated me."

"I'm not _that_ immature," Gazzy grinned. "Come on, assface."

They disappeared into the bathroom, amidst clattering noises and guttural laughs. Dylan and I sat in silence, both of us thinking about Max. Well, at least _I_was. I couldn't be sure about Dylan, but considering the whole 'perfect match' thing, I figured that was the case.

About fifteen minutes later, Iggy and Gazzy emerged with arms full of various explosive items.

"Dumbasses put peroxide in the medicine cabinet," Gazzy guffawed.

"And mouthwash," Iggy added. "And baby wipes."

They high-fived like they used to while Dylan quietly said,

"Baby wipes are flammable?"

We ignored him and just kept laughing like the brothers we were.

They briefly searched the closet and dresser, finding nothing but some ugly shirts they could shred and turn into wicks.

"Um…Iggy? Are you using _all_ of the shirts? 'Cause I don't think it's considered correct in our modern society to walk around in nothing but pants," Dylan nagged.

"Oh really?" Iggy said sarcastically. "I had no clue. Actually, I _am_ in fact well aware that walking around shirtless may be unacceptable for lesser men like you. However, my body is just so great that the ladies and even some men beg for it."

"Please," Dylan rolled his eyes. "I wash my clothes on these washboard abs."

"Yeah? Well, I grate cheese on mine," Iggy retaliated expertly. Gazzy high fived him once again. "What about you, Fangles?"

I half-grinned. "My abs are a patented slice-'n'-dice kitchen appliance."

"Oh, snap!" Gazzy exclaimed.

"I think Fang's the winner once again," Iggy announced. With a raised eyebrow, he added, "Unless Dylan has an appropriate response."

Dylan thought for a moment. "Was that the appliance whose patent they considered revoking because my model was so much better?"

"No, they wanted to create an add-on. You know, your butt chin."

"I don't have a butt chin!" he protested. But when he thought I wasn't looking, he studied his reflection in the dark window. I snickered.

"Don't worry, it made millions." He looked at me in confusion. "Oh, you thought that was your singing career that made you so rich? No, many housewives across America used your chin to cut carrots."

"Max likes my chin," he said.

"Why do you tie everything back to Max?" I questioned.

"Because I love her," he said honestly.

"Well, you don't see me—er, _didn't_ see me doing that five years ago."

"That's because you didn't really care," he accused. Luckily, he missed my slip-up.

"Why does everyone think that?" I sighed. "I was in love with her."

"And you still are. It's obvious, you get all defensive when I talk about her."

"That's because your obsession is annoying and I'm refraining from kicking your ass into next week."

"Why does everyone keep saying 'ass?'"

"We're just talking about you."

"Don't make me say 'balls' again," Gazzy warned. "Dylan is getting dangerously close to the edge of the fail-cliff."

"Fine, whatever," Dylan snapped. "You're not worth it."

"You sound like a teenage girl," I jeered.

"Just shut up! I'm going to sleep." He rolled over and almost instantly began snoring.

"First good thing he's done since he was created," I said. Iggy agreed.

"He's not as bad as you think," Gazzy argued. "Though you're always my bro."

"Thanks, Gaz. I think I'm going to go to sleep too."

"Wait!" Angel interrupted in my mind.

"What is it?" I thought, annoyed.

"Yell for a notebook and pen so that you can write your dreams down when you wake up."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks for reminding me."

I stood up and crossed the room, explaining to Iggy and Gazzy that I had to write down my dreams for my autobiography. Yes, it was a lie, but I couldn't risk giving anything away in front of the security cameras.

"Hey," I yelled. "Is anybody there?" There was no reply. "Is there a clock anywhere?" I asked Iggy and Gazzy. We scanned the walls, but they were blank. I stood up and checked behind the dresser. Sure enough, the clock was there. It read 10:17 PM.

"What kind of idiot thought to put a clock behind the dresser?" I inquired.

"The same idiot who's trying to rebuild the world once again," Iggy shrugged.

I nodded. "I'll ask for the notebook at 10:30. That's probably when they'll make us go to sleep."

"Good idea."

In the meantime, I sat on the bed and listened to Iggy and Gazzy building the bombs out of nothing. Max faded in and out of my thoughts periodically.

"Fang," she said. I looked up in alarm. "Fang." Oh. It was just Gazzy.

"Yeah?" I croaked, throat dry.

"It's 10:30."

"Oh. Thanks." I walked back to the door and called, "Hello?"

"We're about to go on a blackout," a voice answered. "Airplanes are approaching, and they can't know we're here."

"Okay. And, um…could I have a notebook and a pen? I have to write down my dreams when I wake up for my autobiography."

"Son, I don't think your autobiography will sell too well with a global population of under 1,000.

"Just get it, please."

"Fine." He left.

"Quick, hide your bombs," I told Iggy and Gazzy. They scrambled to shove their items in the bathroom and pretended to be playing a game of chopsticks on the floor. The man returned and shoved the door open.

"There," he grunted, slapping the notebook on the ground and nearly nailing my eye with the pen. Before I could reply, he slammed the door.

"Let's get to bed," I said. "We have torture in the morning."

"Don't remind me," Gazzy groaned.

"Amen," Iggy said. The two of them trudged to their beds while I simply walked expressionlessly to mine.

"Night," I called.

"Night," Iggy and Gazzy echoed.

* * *

><p><strong>As a punishment to those of you who neglected to review when the chance was so clearly presented, I have decided to capture Dylan for reasons <em>other<em> than torture! *Stands dignified with arms spread wide as tomatoes are flung at her face***

**Dylan: *pants* Whew, I was getting sick of that electric chair.**

**Sarah: However, Dylan will not speak in this chapter for two reasons. ONE: This AN is long enough already. TWO: He's kind of worn out from all of the torture. Review or else I may have to set Dylan after you with arms open for hugs. Yes, you might be hugged by Dylan if you don't review. Unless you like Dylan, which, in that case, you will have to watch him make out with me XD.**

**...Yes, I like Dylan. DON'T KILL MEEEEE!**

**Mwa!  
>The Urban Spectacle<strong>


	9. Training pt 1

**Well, hello there. Is that how I start every chapter? It sounds really familiar...**

**Thanks to xXfree spiritXx for being the 115th reviewer. You guys need to start looking at the number of reviews. If it says 114 and you say "Oh, someone else can review." Sometimes, THEY DON'T. Keep it in mind.**

**This chapter was beta-ed by SquishyMusic. Gotta love that chica (:**

**And you KNOW WHAT? IT WAS SO LONG THAT I HAD TO SPLIT IT IN HALF. You get the second half depending on your reviews. Enjoy (:**

* * *

><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

_HOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!_blared the alarm. I sat up abruptly, banging my head in the process.

"Good morning," said a voice coming through a speaker system. "Welcome to a new day at Goldilocks. Staff and employees, please report to the breakfast hall at 6:45 sharp, where you will be served. Trainees, please get dressed and ready and wait in your rooms until an employee comes to escort you to the training center. You will receive further instruction there." The voice repeated itself, this time in French.

"Uuuuuugh," Dylan groaned. "What time is it?"

I smirked. "Too early, princess." He glared at me, but offered no response.

Gazzy stood up, stretched, and walked over to the dresser, where he began rummaging for clothes.

"Morning," he said in a perfect, clear voice. We all stared. "What?"

"How are you even _alive_ at this hour?" Iggy asked.

"I had to get up earlier than this when I went to work. And that was in Alaska, so it was sometimes pitch-black. You're lucky it's summer here."

"And what job was that, exactly?" inquired Iggy.

Gazzy half-grinned. "I'm not allowed to reveal that information."

"Oh, come on," Iggy whined. "I basically got you there, and you won't even tell me what it is."

"I'll make you a deal," Gazzy said, propping his foot on a chair and leaning against his knee. "If the world actually ends, I clearly won't have my job anymore, so I'll tell you then."

Iggy pouted. "Fine."

"And you guys call me the baby," Dylan sneered.

"You are," Iggy replied. "The morning just brings out the inner-child in me."

"Okay, whatever, let's just get ready."

"Attention, trainees," the voice said. "Please look in the middle drawer of the dresser to find your training clothes."

"Aw," Gazzy said, his arm already halfway through the sleeve of a T-shirt. "They're making us wear uniforms." He pulled his arm out of the shirt and tossed it back into the top drawer. He opened the middle drawer and pulled out four different colored undershirts. He hurled the black one at me, of course. Iggy got the white one, Dylan got the navy blue one, and Gazzy kept the red one. As well as the undershirts, we each received a pair of solid black shorts.

"Okay, these aren't so bad," Gazzy admitted. I nodded my agreement. At least they weren't making us wear hot pink or something.

Iggy leaned behind the dresser and informed us that it was 6:33.

"We probably have a half hour or so to kill," he estimated. "I don't know about you, but I'm catching some Z's." He flopped on the bed.

"Right behind you," Dylan said. He collapsed without another word.

"I'm going to hide the bomb stuff a little better," said Gazzy.

"Well, I have to record my dreams." I sat down, picked up the pen and notebook, and took a moment to recollect them.

_From what I remember, it was pretty normal,_ I wrote. _I was walking down the street, which I guess was sort of unusual considering I can't walk down the street without getting stampeded by crazy fan girls, but that's not the point. So anyway, I was walking, and I went into a building. I don't know what the building was or what I was doing exactly, but apparently I found whatever I was looking for. So I walked out and kept walking down the street. It gets fuzzy for a bit, and then I do the exact same thing over in the exact same place. And then I woke up._I thought for a second. _That was the only dream I can remember._

"Angel?" I thought.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Did you watch my dreams?"

"No, I was asleep."

"Oh, okay. Just wondering."

"Did you write what you remember?"

"Yeah."

"Can you read it to me?"

I complied.

"Interesting. I wonder what it means."

"Um…it's not really that interesting."

She ignored me. "Oh, I know! It just means you were looking for the answer to the riddle of the names and numbers, and it was easy for your subconscious to find it. But if your subconscious told you what it was, you unfortunately don't remember. Of course, I could be wrong, but that's my best interpretation."

"Shi—crap. Well, I'd better learn how to lucid dream soon."

"I can help you with a simple exercise you can do anywhere."

"What is it?"

"It's called a reality check. You try to do something impossible, like pushing two fingers through your opposite hand. But you have to do it at a specific time, like once every ten minutes or every time you walk through a door. When you do it, you have to ask yourself if you're awake. When you're dreaming, you'll do the same thing and realize you're not awake."

"How long does it take for it to work?"

"It depends on the person. I'm assuming it'll take between a week and a month. But I'm no expert; I've hardly done any research on lucid dreaming."

"You sure _seem_ to be an expert."

"Oh, Fang," she chuckled. I had a feeling it was in pity of my 'inferior intellect.' "Anyway, let's establish what your reality check is going to be and when you're going to do it."

"Well, what are your ideas?"

"It has to be something very discreet, something no one will notice, like…trying to wiggle your front tooth with your tongue. As long as you keep your mouth closed, they won't suspect a thing."

"Would I be able to wiggle my tooth in my dream?"

"Potentially. Of course, it might be tricky, or it may not remind you that you're dreaming. There's also the possibility that it could scare you into a nightmare. Certain actions can trigger the fear part of your subconscious. Looking in a mirror, for example, may reveal a distorted reflection. It doesn't always have an effect, but you may have no reflection or your reflection may be so distorted that it triggers the fear. Just a tip, when you learn to lucid dream, avoid looking into mirrors."

"Um, okay. Well, is there any other reality check I could do?"

"I like the mouth closed idea. How about pushing through the roof of your mouth with your tongue?"

"I think it'd be more unnatural to push my tongue through the roof of my mouth than wiggle my tooth."

"I don't know how to explain it to you exactly, but the gist of it is that any sort of body part falling off triggers the fear section of the subconscious more often and more powerfully than simply defying the laws of physics."

"That doesn't make much sense to me."

"I told you I can't explain it. There's this whole complicated string of reasoning that has to do with nerve endings and brain signals, and it would just take too long to get into it right now."

"Okay, whatever."

"Do the reality check right now. Remember, you have to ask yourself if you're dreaming, and you also have to take it seriously. It's not a joke, it's a legitimate question. I can't stress how important it is to eliminate your sense of being awake. Pretend you're in between dreaming and reality. For all you know, you could be dreaming right now."

"Um, okay." I touched my tongue to the roof of my mouth. "Am I dreaming?"

"You're not trying to push your tongue through. You actually have to try, and make the question more elaborate. Say, 'if this is a dream, I can push my tongue through the roof of my mouth.' When you're asking the question, use words like 'dreaming' and 'lucid' instead of 'awake.' Your subconscious can get confused."

"All right." I tried as hard as I could. "If this is a dream, I can push my tongue through the roof of my mouth."

"Much better. Let's say that you have to do it every single time you walk through a doorway, and whenever else you can remember."

"Okay. Well, Angel, I'm going to let you go. Unless you want to talk to me while I pee."

"Um, I'm good," she chuckled. "See you later, hopefully."

"Trainees, time to go," a voice called from behind the door. I did the reality check. _If this is a dream, I can push my tongue through the roof of my mouth._ It stayed firmly attached to my jaw. I shook Iggy awake and he rolled out of bed. I attempted to wake Dylan by kicking his side, but he didn't even stir. _Lucky bastard never had to learn to sleep lightly,_ I thought irritably.

"Dylan won't wake up," I called to the man behind the door. A couple of seconds later, the alarm sounded again, and Dylan blearily lifted his head.

"Whuzzit?" he slurred. Finally, the noise caught up with him and he added, "Turn that music off."

"Get up, we have training."

"Uuuuuuuuuuungh," he complained. He shuffled to the door, eyelids half-closed.

"We're ready," Gazzy said. The door swung open. A white coat was waiting, and I noted the silver ring on his finger, which was identical to the one that other scientist was wearing (the one that we hoped to never see again).

"Follow me," the scientist said expressionlessly. We walked down the long hallway. I memorized all of the door numbers and looked for any sort of escape, such as a vent or a weak spot in the floor.

Eventually we came to some stairs and climbed them. They seemed to go on forever, but at last a door labeled "_centre de formation"_ came before us.

"You are to enter and stand on any 'x' you please," the white coat informed us. He opened the door, pushed us inside, and locked it behind him.

The room had a tremendously tall ceiling. The walls were made entirely of glass, but I could tell that they were indestructible. A large pool of water sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by artificial trees and tall metal structures. In one corner rested a set of workout machines and dumbbells. Dylan immediately magnetized to the 'x' nearest those. The next corner held a series of tall poles that were bolted to the ground. The corner closest to the tall trees had gymnastics equipment, and the last corner simply had desks and a whiteboard.

Iggy, Gazzy, and I stood on random 'x's just as the door clicked open and the rest of the flock walked in. Of course, my breath hitched in my throat when I saw Max dressed in tight capri-spandex and a form-fitting red T-shirt. Nudge and Angel followed her to 'x's near Dylan, dressed identically to Max, with Nudge in a purple shirt and Angel in a yellow one. Max and Dylan exchanged a smile, and I grimaced, but before they could speak, a fit-looking middle-aged woman and a well-dressed man entered.

"Welcome," said the woman, her voice rough and raspy like a drill sergeant's. "I'm the physical coordinator, Coach Way, and this is the mental coordinator, M. Poisson. Yes, his name means fish. If you make fun of him, you may just find yourself in an unpleasant situation involving either a surprise dip in the pool or a surprise dip outside the window."

"Hi, Coach," Nudge said cheerily. "Bonjour, Monsieur Poisson."

"Parlez-vous français?" M. Poisson asked.

"Oui," said Nudge.

"Très bien! Comment êtes-vous?"

"Eh, comme ci comme ça. Je suis très fatigué." The two shared a laugh as the rest of us stood awkwardly in confusion.

"All right," Coach said. "We begin the day with breakfast and a walk. I understand that you all have inhumanly fast metabolisms, correct?"

"Yeah," we said in unison.

"Excellent. So to begin, you can sit at a desk and eat a few breakfast sandwiches. After you're done, walk around the arena and eat some apples. Will that be enough?"

"What about water?" Angel asked timidly.

"Ah, yes. How much water do you need?"

"Um, a lot?"

"I love it. I'll have the kitchen send up a hundred water bottles that we can keep up here for your training until we run out. In the meantime, M. Poisson will lead you through the rest of orientation."

She exited the room, leaving us with just M. Poisson and the various objects throughout the room.

"Please sit at a desk," he said.

"Oh, you speak English too?" Nudge asked.

"Yes. I have lived in both French and English-speaking parts of Canada."

Wordlessly, we walked over to the desks and sat down.

"Basically, the day will progress like this," he said, picking up a green expo marker and writing on the whiteboard.

_7:00 Breakfast & Warm-Up Walk_

_7:15 Running_

_9:30 Kickboxing_

_10:00 Yoga & Flexibility_

_10:45 Theory & Logic_

_11:45 Basic School Studies & Lunch_

_12:45 Quick Walk_

_1:00 Special Skills Development_

_4:00 Camouflage Lesson_

_5:00 Flying_

_6:00 Strength Training_

_6:30 Swimming_

_7:30 Dinner & Cool-Down Walk_

_8:00 Return to Rooms_

"Any questions? No? Brilliant."

* * *

><p>8:00 AM<p>

My lungs were on fire. We had already been running for 45 minutes around the pool, but we still had an hour and a half left. They definitely didn't give us enough time to let our food digest, seeing as Angel had already vomited once, and she was looking a little green again. In fact, my stomach churned in protest at the excessive exertion and stress that was being put on it.

It wasn't always like this of course, but there were few times when I've had to go this long on foot. I mean, I had a pair of powerful wings on my back and an uncanny ability to hotwire cars; not to mention the past few years I've been a multi-millionaire and have had several vehicles of my own. Understandably, my legs were undeveloped.

Max, on the other hand, had barely broken a sweat. She had already lapped everyone several times. Every time she passed Dylan, she whispered something that made him smile. Every time _I_ passed Dylan, I whispered something that made him swing at me.

Suddenly, my foot misplaced itself and I tripped. I didn't fall to the ground, but nearly smashed my face against an artificial tree. Gazzy, who was passing by, caught my arm and pulled me out of the way.

"Watch it," he said, voice even. I noticed that he wasn't sweating at all. "That's what you get for getting soft."

He sprinted away, leaving me in the dust.

"Keep running, Williams!" Coach Way yelled. I took a deep breath and repeated to myself, _Pain is just a message. Pain is just a message. Pain is just a freaking dismal message._

* * *

><p>9:00 AM<p>

We were still. Freaking. Running.

By now, my legs were numb to the pain. My lungs, on the other hand, were screaming at me. My pulse felt like it was well past 10,000. Even Max had slowed down to a pace that matched Dylan's. Angel had vomited again, and now looked ready to pass out. Nudge had long since reached her maximum (no pun intended) and was going at a speed that could hardly be classified as running. Iggy looked like a tomato with his sweat-slick crimson face. But through all of the strain, Gazzy trooped on. I could barely see the sheer layer of sweat on his face as he stormed past us.

"How are you doing that?" I panted.

"It's called being in shape. You should try it sometime."

"Burn," Dylan wheezed. "Buuurn."

* * *

><p>10:00 AM<p>

Kickboxing after a ridiculously long run is a terrible idea. The more we protested, the more vigorous techniques Coach Way made us do. But finally, it was over and we could move into yoga (I never thought I'd use 'finally' and 'yoga' in the same sentence). Sure, it was kind of a girly thing to do, but I'd take 45 minutes of yoga over running and kickboxing for almost 3 hours. Besides, Dylan was bound to be a terrible yogi **(AN: That's a real word! The female version is 'yogini.')**and I could have yet another thing to hold over his head.

"Grab a mat, take off your shoes, and stand on the front end of it," Coach yelled. "We're not doing yoga today. We'll start on that tomorrow when you're nice and sore. Instead, we're doing flexibility."

"Um," Nudge raised her had shyly. "Why do we have to do all of this painful stuff?"

"Because," Coach screamed. "You need to be prepared for anything! You need to be able to dodge any obstacle, solve any problem." Angel and I shared a look at the last one. "And most importantly, you need to be able to tolerate any pain. Now instead of me giving you the long and incredibly boring motivational speech, we're going to make it happen. Sit down on the back part of your mat."

* * *

><p>11:00 AM<p>

"And that is why you need to make an appropriate amount of eye contact."

"Fascinating!" exclaimed Angel.

"Isn't it?"

M. Poisson had been rambling about eye contact for the past fifteen minutes, and the boredom waves had already penetrated my skull and were now shrinking my brain.

"Any questions about this topic?"

Nudge raised her hand. "So if you suspect someone's lying and they look to the left, then they probably are?"

"In most cases, yes."

"That's so cool!"

It so wasn't.

Off in the corner, Max and Dylan were making mushy faces at each other. I was surprised they hadn't been caught yet, but I supposed their karma would catch up to them eventually. Meanwhile, Gazzy was massaging his own shoulders, sore from the extreme flexibility routine. We were all surprised to find him struggling to do the simplest of moves. The rest of us had much less trouble, but we came nowhere near Max's skill. _Stupid dancer_, I thought.

"Now, into the next lesson. Reactions."

I contained my sigh and shut off the spout of thoughts.

* * *

><p>12:00 PM<p>

I munched on a carrot as M. Poisson preached about the beauty of conjugation. He had just closed a lesson on American history for social studies and was now diving into literature. We had an hour of basic school studies, which contained fifteen minute increments of math, science, literature, and social studies; though I was not looking forward to any of them. The last time I went to school, I had made Max insanely jealous by kissing that perky redhead. What was her name? Lydia. No, wait…Lassie. No, that's a dog's name. It definitely started with an 'L.' Loretta? Way off. Um…Lissa? Lissa! That was it. Lissa. Ugh. She had tasted like a dirty hippie. Max, in return, kissed a person who was actually good-looking. That little…never mind.

My mind wandered between grammar and memories. I think at some point there was a memory about grammar, but that might've been made up. But finally, the theme transitioned from literature to math. Wait, finally? Math? _Finally_? Ah, here it comes….

* * *

><p>1:00 PM<p>

"Oh, time for special skills development. Coach, they're all yours."

"Yes!" Gazzy shrieked, leaping to his feet. "No offense, sir," he added, nodding at M. Poisson.

"None taken. Knowledge is an acquired taste."

"All right, pigeons, gather 'round," Coach Way barked. "We're going to start with balance. Come over to these poles." We walked slowly, tense from the workouts prior to the lessons.

"How do we get up there?" Nudge asked.

"You climb. Get yourself to the top of the pole and stand on one foot."

"What happens if we fall?"

"You figure it out."

Dylan muttered a 'naughty word' under his breath.

"What was that?" Coach inquired, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"I just coughed," he defended.

"That's what I thought. Now, get to work, pigeons!"

Gazzy, of course, sprinted over to a pole and began climbing. Max followed his lead with little difficulty. Her slender arms gripped the pole—no, wait, I shouldn't be thinking about this. I walked over to a pole, rolled my shoulders, and began pulling myself up with my arms. Luckily, my biceps and triceps were much more developed than my legs. I scaled the pole with ease, but only to be faced with the issue of standing on top of it. In the meantime, Dylan reached the top of his pole, and I watched him swing his legs up and backflip into a standing position. _Wow,_ I thought. _I hate the guy, but he's got style._ His victory was short-lived, though, for he lost his balance and toppled backwards. He landed on the ground with a thud. I winced. That had to be more than thirty feet; a distance that full-humans couldn't survive without injury. But Dylan just groaned, struggled to his feet, and rubbed his back. Oh, right, he was a self-healer.

I looked to Max and Gazzy. They seemed to be having the same problem as me. Nudge, Iggy, and Angel weren't even to the top yet, so I couldn't rely on them for guidance. I sucked in a breath and decided to take my chances with the Dylan method. I unwrapped my legs from around the pole and supported myself with my arms. Rather than facing the rest of the poles like Dylan, I faced the arena so as to give my legs more room to swing. Propelling them forward, my feet reached the pole with ease as they flipped over my head, back perfectly straight. My arms were parallel to the ground. To add more balance, I unfurled my wings slowly.

"You got it, Williams!" Coach yelled. I smirked triumphantly at Dylan. He cast me the evil eye in return.

* * *

><p><strong>Rémi: Thanks for reading! Part 2 is coming...but it ALL DEPENDS ON YOUR REVIEWS.<strong>

**Dylan: Reviews are niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.**

**Rémi: You see what you guys did to him? He's gone wacko (HAHA! Wacko :3)!**

**Dylan: Preeeeetty revieeeeews.**

**Rémi: He should be fine by next chapter. You all'd better hope he is...*ominous stare***

**Up to 116 Reviews: I'll update a year from the last review  
>Up to 117 Reviews: I'll update six months from the last review<br>Up to 120 Reviews: I'll update two months from the last review  
>Up to 125 Reviews: I'll update two weeks from the last review<br>Up to 130 Reviews: I'll update a week from the last review  
>Up to 135+ Reviews: I'll update the day after the last review (May not be possible...I'm almost done with Chapter 10 but I doubt you guys can do 135 anyway :P)<strong>

**Mwa!  
>The Urban Spectacle<strong>


	10. Training pt 2

**OHHHHHEMMMMMMMMGEEEEEEEEEEE! 22 REVIEWS FOR ONE CHAPTER IN ONE DAY! AUGHSUDFHSUDHFKSJH! I KNEW YOU GUYS COULD DO IT! I LOVE YOU ALLLLLLLLLL!**

**Someone asked the question "Why can't you just make Max and Fang get together?"  
>The answer to that is obvious. You can't just suddenly resolve a big chunk of conflict with no warning. It's really unprofessional and takes a way A LOT of appeal. You want the readers to squeal at every single tiny bit of Fax, and pull their hair out at every single tiny bit of Mylan. You need to make the readers <em>feel something<em>.**

**Now, I've always wanted to say this…there's Fax in this chappie if you squint. XD YES! DREAM COME TRUE! Now I need to find a new FanFic dream…. Oh, bee tee dubs, there's also axF (Max/Fang hatin' on each otha, my brotha). Omg. I'm word-hyper.**

**When you get to the Nudge rant part, see how much you can say in one breath. Special surprise for the winner (:**

* * *

><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

2:00 PM

"All right, pigeons. Switching gears to gymnastics."

We had been standing on those poles for an entire hour. Halfway through, we had to switch feet, which was a nerve-racking task, and resulted in Iggy and Nudge falling to the ground. They received no sympathy and were instead forced to do twenty painful pushups before climbing back up the poles.

"Max, you're a gymnast, correct?" Coach asked.

"A dancer, but close enough, I guess."

"Let's have you demonstrate some techniques."

"Fine." She stepped up to the balance bar and stood on one foot, arms poised like a ballerina's. "How simple do you want me to start?"

"Just show them how to walk on the bar."

"Just walk? Even Fang can do that!" I shot her a glare.

"Kill the attitude and obey."

She stood on her tiptoes and scurried across the bar. "The trick is to pretend you're walking on the sidewalk, but gracefully. I have a feeling that's going to be difficult for some of you." She stepped off the bar and stalked back to her place beside Dylan.

"Max, you're not done," Coach Way said impatiently. "Help me analyze their performance before we go on. Angel, you're up first."

Angel walked over to the bar and stood on it, one foot in front of the other. "How am I so far?"

"Good," Max said. "Not perfect, but it's fine for a beginner. Now walk." Angel scuttled across the bar with ease, almost enough to rival Max's skill. "Good, Angel. End of the line. Gazzy, you're next."

"This might get ugly," he warned, standing on the bar and holding his arms out for balance.

"No," Max said. "Put your arms down. Focus your balance on your feet. Avoid being top-heavy."

"I can't help it! I've got guns, man!"

Max rolled her eyes. "Don't let yourself believe it. Pretend you have the skinniest arms in the world."

"You mean like Iggy?"

"Hey!" Iggy folded his arms. Gazzy took a deep breath and put his arms down. Though the bar was only about two feet off the ground, he looked sort of nervous. He took one step and nearly fell off.

"You're walking on a sidewalk, remember?"

"Right." He took another tentative step, followed by another, followed by another. Finally, he reached the end of the bar and let out his breath.

"Phew."

"See? Not so hard. Nudge, you're up." Nudge skipped over and bounced onto the bar. She darted across with no difficulty.

"Told you there was value in constantly wearing stilettos. Balance of gold, baby. Iggy's turn!" she sang. Iggy jumped up onto the bar and wobbled across.

"You have to focus, Iggy," Max scolded.

"At least I was better than Gazzy," he muttered. "Fangety Fang, you're up."

"Fangety Fang? Where did you get _that_ from?"

"I don't know! Just go walk!"

"Geez," I grumbled, stepping up to the bar. As I mounted, Max sighed irritably.

"No. You're not going anywhere with a posture like that."

"Huh?"

"Straighten your back." I attempted, but for some reason, it was impossible. "Like this," Max said, putting one hand on my chest and the other on my back. My breath caught in my throat, but luckily, no one noticed. She jerked my spine into a rigid position (see: "ruined the moment"). "Now walk," Max commanded. I teetered across the bar, occasionally leaning to the side and nearly tumbling down; yet somehow I managed to make it across alive.

"You've got some work to do, mister," Max said. "Dylan, your turn."

Dylan grinned and climbed on the bar. He pretty much skipped across, pecking Max on the cheek with his dismount.

"Perfect," she grinned. "But now," she added, face getting serious. "It's going to get tricky for all of you."

"Tricky? How so?" Iggy inquired nervously.

"You're about to find out."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN: I'm skipping 3:00 &amp; 4:00. I couldn't think of anything, okay?)<strong>

* * *

><p>5:00 PM<p>

That was one hell of a camouflage lesson. Seeing how long we could hold our breaths didn't strike me as a form of concealment, especially when Angel passed out. But then again, this entire shindig was arguably the hardest we'd ever been worked in our lives.

"It's time for some flying. Raise your hand if you've flown at all within the past five years."

Gazzy raised his hand.

"Seriously? Come on! Let's hear your excuses."

"It hurt," Nudge admitted. The rest of us nodded our heads in agreement.

"Physically or mentally?"

"Mentally," Max said. Coach sighed.

"Well, you're about to get a little of both. Wings out!"

We unfurled our wings slowly, unused to the sensation.

"Fly laps around the room!"

Gazzy immediately rose to the air and began flapping. The rest of us could hardly get off the ground. The joints in my wings ached worse than my legs. Poor little Angel was grimacing in pain as she struggled to flap her wings, alongside Nudge, who was rising a few feet at a time before dropping to the ground and clutching her stomach. I looked up at Gazzy. He cast me a shrug and resumed his dutiful flapping.

"All right," Max said, stepping into the middle of us. She put her hands on her hips. "We're not getting anywhere with this."

"You're right, babe," Dylan agreed. Max looked at him, expression quizzical.

"Babe?"

Dylan held his hands up. "Just trying it out."

"Okay…moving on, who remembers how Jeb taught us to fly?"

"Well," Nudge began, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Here we go," Iggy said, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up, Ig. Anyway, he started with making us draw our wings in and out, getting faster as it became easier. Then we had to learn about how our feathers interact with the air, like wind speed and stuff. Hey, have you ever noticed how much easier it is to fly outside than inside? I wonder why that is. I can think of a few reasons off the top of my head. Well, they're not really reasons, they're possibilities. So the first possibility is that it's because the wind lifts your wings when you're outside and you have more to go on. 'Cause when you're inside, there's no wind at all, unless there's a fan on. But a little fan wouldn't really affect you, would it? So let's say there was a huge fan. Like, really big and really powerful._That_would maybe help you fly if that was the reason. But I can't think of any place that would need that strong of a fan, unless they were too cheap to afford air conditioning and it was like a thousand degrees or something. Of course, the fan would have to be really expensive, so that kind of counteracts with the air conditioning thing. Plus, they couldn't have any papers in the room since they'd be flying all over the place. That would be so funny, but really annoying if it were you. You also couldn't have a pillow fight because if your pillow broke the feathers would fly all over the place. That would be so much fun, we should try that sometime! But we'd have to get out of here first, and then find a really big fan, which would be difficult on its own. But it'd all be worth it. I mean, we'd have like feathers everywhere. It wouldn't be so fun if it were our feathers from our wings, because it would hurt to have those yanked out. But we've flown through hurricanes before, so I don't think any fan would be able to do that to us. Oh, and the fan would be extremely loud. You wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything. Okay, well, I suppose I should get back on topic. Well, I still want to tell you the other thing I thought of. Flying inside vs. outside, you know? Yeah, so I thought it could also be because we have bird DNA and birds fly outside. It's like, instinct. Birds don't fly inside, ever! Except for the birds that always fly in Costco. Have you ever noticed them? They fly in through the huge garage-looking doors. So they fly in and like have a blast on the rod things on the ceiling. The ceiling in Costco looks really gross, by the way! It's like cotton fluff mixed with puke. Ewww, what if someone ate cotton and they threw it up? Maybe that's what's on the ceiling. I'm sure that's not true, but it would be fun to start a conspiracy theory about that and like almost get Costco sued or something. But we wouldn't _really_ sue them, because for one thing, I don't think our side would go very far in court, and plus I love Costco and I don't want to take their money. Aw, man, I'm way off-topic. Umm…Jeb teaching us to fly. Right. So he made us flap our wings, but not rise off the ground. Kind of like that scene in the first Harry Potter movie. That one was The Sorcerer's Stone, right? I think so. Yeah, so anyway, Madame Hooch made them get on their brooms but not rise off the ground and then Neville Fatbutt or whatever his name was started rising into the air and his broom whizzed him all over the place. He ended up breaking his arm or something. Yeah, so we were flapping our wings but we couldn't go anywhere. But the second day, Jeb just pushed us off a cliff and instinct took over. I really wanna say more, but I'm gonna shut my mouth now."

We gaped.

"All in one breath?"

Nudge laughed. "I'm not _that_ good. But I'm training. That was probably like three or four breaths."

"Let's not get off-topic. _Ahem_, Nudge," Max reasoned. "We need to go off how we learned to fly the first time, since we're basically learning again."

"Well, we know all of that stuff on wind and feathers. Let's start with flapping. Once it gets easy, we'll do the cliff thing," Iggy suggested.

"Where on earth are we going to find a cliff?" Angel questioned. "We're inside."

I scanned the room. "We could just climb the poles and fall off," I suggested.

"I don't know if that'll work," argued Dylan.

"Oh really? Why?"

He was silent.

"All right, well let's get to it," said Max. I unfolded my wings and flapped slowly. At first, they ached like my mouth when I ripped a tooth out. But as the minutes wore on, the pain subsided. When the movements felt natural to me, I walked back over to the poles and cracked my knuckles. I was the first one there. I climbed the pole as easily as the first time, and swung myself up. By then, the only person still flapping was Angel, expression fixed in a grimace.

"Reality check," she said in my mind.

_If I'm dreaming, I can push my tongue through the roof of my mouth,_I thought. I pressed my tongue to the top of my mouth, but nothing happened. _So I'm awake_.

I drew my wings out and fluttered them lightly a few times to prepare them.

Suddenly, I was rushing towards the ground. I looked up. Max was standing on the pole behind the one I was just on. _She pushed me!_ I thought. But I had no time to be angry; I was a mere fifteen feet from the ground. My wings caught the air and fought it, lifting me up above the synthetic trees. Sharp pains coursed through my joints, but I endured them and joined Gazzy in the air.

"Nice job," he praised, shooting me an awkward high five.

"Laps, Williams. I want to see laps!" Coach screeched. I grimaced, flapped my wings, and flung her a halfhearted thumbs up.

* * *

><p>6:00 PM<p>

"Those of you with flimsy spaghetti noodle arms are about to enter a world of hurt," Coach shouted to the air through which we were flying. "Flying's over. Time for strength training."

Dylan, Gazzy and I grinned and began our descent from the air. Nudge and Angel looked about ready to cry, but remained silent. Max's visage held no expression. Iggy, however, was looking a little steamed.

"I'm a chef," he muttered. "A chef. I don't need basketball biceps to chop onions. I don't even have to be able to touch my toes to reach the bottom drawer. If this Goldilocks plan fails, I'm not going to leave with anything but sore muscles and aching bones." His voice had slowly risen, and his nostrils were flaring.

"Hey, Martinez," Coach yelled. "Shut your trap or you'll be leaving with more than just sore muscles."

Iggy folded his arms and performed a dangerous leap from a semi-high tree branch.

"Sir, yes sir," he spat.

"Calm down," I murmured to Iggy. "At least your basketball biceps will impress the crap out of Ella."

"If we ever get out of here," he seethed. "If I never get to see Ella again, I swear, I'll—"

"Shh." His voice had risen again to a louder-than-indoor level, but he listened to me and stalked away.

"Crybaby," I heard Dylan mumble from behind me. Iggy spun around.

"Dylan, who was the one moaning and groaning about how much you missed Max, and how much you love her? It certainly wasn't me. You two were apart for ten seconds and suddenly the world's ending. You don't see Gazzy crying in the corner about Bridget. They've been apart for at least two weeks. Fang's not whining about Amelia, and he hasn't seen her since…." He trailed off and looked at me.

"A week and a half."

"He hasn't seen her in a week and a half! And me? I've been in love with Ella since before the idea of your _existence_ sprung into some balding guy's head. I haven't been away from her in three years, and suddenly we get pried apart. 24 plus hours is a long time. Ten seconds isn't. And don't pull that perfect match crap on me. You don't have to be put through a crazy scientist's blender to have a perfect match, you know. It can happen naturally. And—"

"All right, all right, break it up," Coach interrupted. "As amusing as that was, we've got some weight lifting to do. If I catch another fight in here that's _not_ about who's stronger, I'll make it my duty to have you hung by your ankles."

* * *

><p>7:00 PM<p>

My slender, yet muscular, body cut through the water with ease. Swimming laps for an hour? No problem. This was nothing compared to the hell we'd gone through earlier that day, and I was already halfway through. Even Angel, though she was slow, was swimming with ease.

"Let's see you pick up the pace, pigeons!" Coach, well, coached. "Easy, right? That's a problem! You're supposed to give it your all. How long are you supposed to give it your all? Someone tell me."

"24/7," Gazzy gurgled, mouth halfway in the water.

"That's right! Even while you're sleeping, you'd better have your blood pumping as hard as you can make it pump."

"That's what she said," Iggy chuckled. "That's *_all*_ what she said."

"You, sir, should not even have the breath to say that. Come on, faster!"

I was silent as we worked harder. I swam past Dylan, which was easy since his taller frame slowed him down. Max and Nudge were both faster than me, but poor little Angel was lagging behind.

"Come on, Angel, we're almost done."

"Thanks," she panted. "For caring." She took a few more breaths. "But we have another half hour left."

"Yeah, only a half hour until we can just eat before going to sleep."

"I guess if you put it that way," she smiled. "Oh, food."

"Having fun with your pedophilia?" Dylan taunted.

"No, I'm comforting my hurting sister. If you don't mind, I'd like to swim in peace for a little bit."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"How about a brick to your head?"

"Stop being a jerk, Fang," Max hissed.

"Me? He's calling me a pedophile."

"And you're threatening to chuck a dangerous object at his head." By now, the three of us had stopped swimming and were treading water. Coach was near the desks talking to M. Poisson about something I couldn't hear.

"I wasn't threatening, I was proposing a plan to help Earth's recycling program."

"How would me being out cold help the recycling program?"

"You don't wanna know," Iggy threw in, swimming by.

"Dylan," Max said, rolling her eyes at me. "This immature kid isn't worth our time."

"Hello, ice queen," I commented.

"You know it."

I faced Max a little better. "When did our little tomboy grow into such a—don't make me say it—biiiiiiii—"

Water splashed into my eyes and mouth. "Shut your face," Max growled. Her head leaned closer to mine. "You are a self-righteous, arrogant jerk. So let's shut your face. Let's shut all of the holes so that you can't breathe, see, or hear."

"You might run out of hands to cover the holes. I know something else you could use, but you might get scared and run away."

Max leaned in even closer, and for a second, I thought she was going to kiss me. I tensed. But she leaned her head to the right a little and…

"Sick!" I screamed. "She just stuck her tongue in my ear!"

"Was that what you were referring to?"

"It was. I was just thinking you'd put it somewhere else."

"Clearly, judging by that look on your face a few seconds ago."

"What face? I'm the master of un-emotion."

"Uh-huh, sure you are."

"I _am_. Remember when I thought I was going to die? Complete poker face."

"Oh, come on. You didn't care, Mr. Emo."

"I didn't care that I was going to die? Here, let me rephrase that sentence so you'll understand. I thought. I was going. To _die_. Dead. As in, no more Fang. The end."

"Shut _up_!"

"Why do you care so much?"

"I _don't_! You're just pissing me off!"

"Whether you love me or hate me, I'm still on your mind."

"Let me make one thing clear," Max said icily. "I hate you. I hate you so much, I would probably laugh if you died. I hate you so much, if I was handed a gun loaded with two bullets and put in a room with you and Adolf Hitler, I'd shoot you twice. So yes, you are on my mind often. You ruined my life. I strongly believe that nothing good ever comes out of your mouth, and sometimes you make me so angry that I want to cry. Whenever I see you on TV, I throw whatever I'm holding at the screen. That cost me about a thousand bucks when I happened to be holding a butcher's knife. I've been trying to be somewhat nice to you this whole time, and you made me lose my cool. That's just one more thing added to the list, which seems to be never-ending. To this day, I can't understand how I can bear to look at you, but there are just some things you have to deal with. So why don't you get a grip and leave Dylan the fungus alone."

She didn't really say "fungus."

"Fine," I hissed. "Just let me say one thing."

"What?"

"Too bad he doesn't have the balls to stand up for himself."

"That's it!" Max jerked forward and pushed me underwater with both hands. She wasn't strong enough to keep me there, of course, but I inhaled a good amount of water. I shot back to the surface, coughing.

"Biscuit!"

I didn't really say "biscuit."

"Oh, me?"

"Yes, you."

"Well, if that's the best you can come up with, you don't want to hear my opinion of you."

"I just did."

"No, that was the short version."

"Really? Because I took a nap halfway through."

"Ahem."

Uh-oh.

I whirled around. Coach was standing there, arms folded.

"We're not training for an Elementary School name-calling match."

"Coach, I'm sorry, it's just—" Max tried.

"I don't want to hear it. Max, you go over and bench 75 until I tell you to stop. Fang, you go over there and walk on your hands across the bar until I tell you to stop."

"But what if I drop the bar on my neck?" Max shrieked at the same time as I said,

"But what if I pass out from all of the blood rushing to my head?"

"What if, what if, what if. If there's a what and an if, there's no guarantee. Now go to your places and follow my orders or it's an extra ten minutes."

"Pff. Ten minutes," Iggy scoffed.

"Would you like to join them?" Coach asked.

"Nah, I'm good."

"Good. Now, GET BACK TO WORK, PIGEONS!"

* * *

><p>8:00 PM<p>

Oh.  
>My.<br>Aching.  
>God.<p>

My limbs felt like jello; I could hardly even walk. We were on our way back to our rooms, and the pain had obviously caught up with me. The rest of the flock shuffled behind, except for Gazzy, who was walking confidently ahead of us.

"Looks like I was the only one who did something decent with his life after the split-up."

"Decent? I'm a world-famous chef!" Iggy exclaimed. "I'd judge you, but I don't know what I'd be judging since you won't _tell_ me."

"Iggy's right," Max agreed. "I'm a dancer. I've performed in every state in the US except for Alaska, and I've also performed in 9 other countries. Dylan's a singer. He has his own Barbie doll."

"Sissy," I coughed. Dylan glared at me. I held up my hands in defense. "Just coughing. And yeah, I'm the number one actor in the world at this very second."

"I'm the most brilliant person to ever live in terms of age," Angel said. "Probably. There could be someone in an economically-poor country that hasn't had the chance to receive education and is thusly underdeveloped, but that's not the point."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty much Oprah," Nudge concluded. "Sorry Gazzy, but even though we're not all super-buff-jocks like you, we're successful."

"You _were_ successful," the scientist escorting us to our rooms corrected. "The world may never see you in your famous forms again."

Conversation pretty much stopped from there.

"Here we are," the scientist said as we reached our doors. "It's 8:03. Lights out is at 10:30, though I suggest you go to sleep earlier. Good night."

* * *

><p>…<strong>And thus concludes the incredibly long two headed chapter. I really wish they could all be like this, but sadly, they can't : These were somewhat filler-ish, no true storyline, but the next chapter will reveal something big. BIG, I TELL YOU. BIG. But you only get a small chunk of it.**

**Dylan: It's a reasonably-sized chunk.  
>Rémi: Dylan! You're back to normal!<br>Dylan: Yeah, mostly. I have this weird itch on my left elbow that won't stay away for more than ten seconds, but aside from that, I'm  
>fine. *Scratches elbow*<br>Rémi: Glad to hear it. (:|  
>Dylan: …Why?<br>Rémi: Well…you're hot? And adorable!  
>Dylan: Aren't those the exact same thing?<br>Rémi: HAHA. No. Adorable is a personality thing.  
>Dylan: Okaaay…<br>Rémi: Review! Review! Revieeeeeeew!  
>Dylan: Yeah, sure, whatever.<br>Rémi: Yeah? Sure? Whatever? I need my reviews, Dylan. You know this well.  
>Dylan: Just messing with you. Guys, you might wanna review. She gets creepy without them…<br>Rémi: *sigh* I've been called defensive, paranoid, and creepy just in this past 24 hours.  
>Dylan: Only because it's true. Review, readers!<strong>

**Mwa!  
>The Urban Spectacle<strong>

**138+ Reviews: I'll update a year after #138  
>139+ Reviews: I'll update six months after #139<br>142+ Reviews: I'll update two months after #142  
>147+ Reviews: I'll update two weeks after #147<br>152+ Reviews: I'll update a week after #152  
>157+ Reviews: I'll update the day after #157<strong>


	11. Instant Breakthrough

**YES, I KNOW THIS CHAPTER SUCKS AND I KNOW THAT IT'S INCREDIBLY SHORT, BUT I COULDN'T WRITE ANY MORE. OKAY? AND I'M SORRY I'M LATE. PLEASE DON'T KILL ME. **

**This chapter has NOT been beta-ed cuz I wanted it uploaded right away. Sorry, Squishy!**

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><p><strong>Angel POV<strong>

This was going more smoothly than I'd expected it to.

Nobody, not even Max, suspected a thing about me. It was almost pathetic. A mind as complex and brilliant as this is bound to rebel against almost every rule. But they all seemed to forget about that.

They believed that I had changed. _Ha_. Technically, I did for a period of four years, but the voice reminded me of who I truly was: the six-year-old psychopath. I suppose I'm officially thirteen now, but I'm still the baby of the flock. And it's all the better that way; I'm much less susceptible. Gotta love that age-based prejudice.

_It's good to have you back,_ said the Voice.

_Good to be back,_ I replied with a devilish grin. _Good to be back_.

* * *

><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

I hissed as I rolled over. Pain coursed through my body every time I moved. It was utterly impossible to sleep. I stood up and shuffled over to the dresser to look at the clock, which read 3:53 AM.

Iggy, Gazzy, Dylan and I had to take turns showering, and I had been chosen to go last. The sound of water running still echoed through the bathroom door. _How long does he need?_I wondered. About thirty minutes ago, Dylan turned the shower on. He had been in the bathroom for over an hour before that, and it took him twenty minutes to even wake up enough to crawl into the bathroom.

I trudged back over to my bed and sat down slowly. My back ached like a 70-year-old man's. How long did the soreness have to last? I stood up again and paced around the room. As I shuffled past the door, a sharp pain suddenly shot through my calf and I tripped, smacking my forehead on the doorknob.

Oh my God.

The door swung open.

The door…how? I thought that the scientist had locked it behind him. In fact, I was certain he did. I distinctly remembered the sound of the lock clicking.

But more importantly, should I take this chance to escape?

No. I was way too sore. The only one who would have a chance of making it out was Gazzy. If just one of us escaped, the rest of us would lose the chance. Besides, they were bound to have security cameras. Weren't they?

_Angel,_I called in my mind. _Are there security cameras in the hallway?_

* * *

><p><strong>Angel POV<strong>

Goddamnit. If I told him there were, when we went to training the next day, he would realize I was lying. Logically, my only option was to tell the truth.

_Why don't you just use mind control? _the Voice interrupted.

_He has mind blocks, remember? _I replied irritably. _They're not strong enough that I can't talk to him, but they interfere with my ability to control him or make him forget anything._

_Oh. Well, I suppose you have no choice._

_Fang, _I thought. _There are no cameras in the hall, but there are sound recorders. Luckily, we have neither in our rooms. I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want them to get their hopes up._

_Seriously? _he replied excitedly. _The door isn't locked. If it stays that way, we can escape._

No! He wasn't supposed to figure it out so easily! No one was. How could I let my guard down? Now I had to attempt to clean up my mess by stalling him.

_Well, we need to think about this, Fang_, I rationalized. _We can't just go bursting out the front door. We don't even know anything about this place._

_I know that,_ he said. _Plus, we're sore. It'd be really hard to run without screaming or falling._

_Exactly, _I agreed. _Let's sleep on it. Good night, Fang_.

_Good night._

**Fang POV**

Or not. I still needed a shower.

**FAX ALPHABET SOUP IS DEAD. Sorry. It's gone. No one really cares though, right?**

**Dylan: Hi people :D**

**162+ Reviews: I'll update a year from #162  
>163+ Reviews: I'll update six months from #163<br>166+ Reviews: I'll update two months from #166  
>171+ Reviews: I'll update two weeks from #171<br>176+ Reviews: I'll update one week from #176  
>182+ Reviews: I'll update one day from #182<strong>

**Mwa!  
>The Urban Spectacle<strong>


	12. Sad Little Filler

**I know, I know, I'm HORRIBLE. And this chapter is AWFUL. It's SHORT. And it altogether SUCKS. But the point is, I'm finally updating, and the next chapter is coming along great. I should've written more over Spring Break, but I was busy...texting a ceeertaaain peeerson the whole break :D Best Spring Break ever, just saying. Anyway, here you FINALLY go, and PLEASE don't kill me. O.O**

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><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

I leapt to my feet and jogged in place.

"Today's the day," I grinned. "Today's the day we get out."

My muscles tingled, itching for exercise. The excessive training had increased my ability to…well, do anything. I almost wanted to stay and keep training, but it wasn't the right thing to do. I had to save the world. Besides, I could exercise on my own time.

I strode over to the dresser to slap on my training clothes and check the clock. 5:59, it read. I grinned. I had more than enough time to prepare myself. I opened the dresser drawer, pulled my leg through a pair of black shorts, and ran over the plan in my mind. Step one: go to training. Act natural. Be normal. Step two: come back from training. Pretend to be sore, like always. Step three: fight with Dylan, loud enough for it to be heard in the hall while Iggy opens the door. Step four: fight quieter, since there is no longer the barricade of the door. Step five: let Iggy and Gazzy stuff pillows in the bed and keep fighting. Let the girls open their door. Step six: stop fighting. Pretend to be going to sleep. Have Dylan turn on the shower. Step eight: leave the rest to Angel.

_Speaking of me,_ Angel interrupted. _You need to record your dreams._

_Right,_ I said. _Thanks_. I walked back to my bed and picked up the notebook from underneath. Pondering, I began to write.

_I was climbing a tree. I kept climbing and climbing until I reached the top. But all of a sudden, the tree became taller, so I had to climb again. On my way up, I passed a man who was just sitting nonchalantly on a branch. I didn't talk to him. I couldn't. He fell off the tree. So I kept climbing. I reached the top, but it grew again. I climbed some more. This time, I passed a woman who was sitting on a branch, panting. I was about to ask if she was okay, but the branch broke off and she fell. So I kept climbing. I reached the top one last time, and the tree grew again. Aggravated, I sat down on a branch, but I lost my balance and tumbled down. I woke up before I hit the ground._

I was getting better at dream recall. Unfortunately, this was not the case with lucid dreaming. I probably did my reality checks at least thirty times a day, yet I hadn't had a single moment of lucidity. The issue puzzled Angel as well. She claimed that taking over a month is almost unheard of. But we hopefully had enough time to figure it out.

"Who's up?" said a voice from the corner of the room. Iggy was slowly lifting his head.

"Me," I replied. "You ready?"

"Uh-huh. You?"

"Yup."

Iggy rose, stretched, and rolled out of bed. "There's one problem though."

"What?"

"We're going to have to change our appearances. We're celebrities. We're bound to be recognized."

I frowned. "You're right."

"I was thinking we should buzz all of our hair, and shave Gazzy's completely off."

My hand shot up to my head. "Not a chance."

"Do you _want_ to be recognized?"

"No."

"Then suck it up!"

"How about we buzz _your_ hair, and we can buy me a wig?"

"If I'm going hair-less, so are you."

"Then we can get Gazzy to buy us both wigs."

"Fine. Color contacts?"

"Yeah. And glasses for you."

"Why me?"

"Because you're pale."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Pale people are typically nerds."

"That's not true! I'm not a nerd!"

"Yes you are."

"I'm a _chef_. Nerds can't cook."

"Girl nerds can't cook. _Boy_ nerds on the other hand…"

"Is chef Ramsey a nerd?"

"No, he's just a fag."

"I'd rather be a fag than a nerd."

"Finally coming out of the closet?"

"Not what I meant."

"Well, you're either one or the other."

"Whatever. What should we do for Dylan?"

"Oh right," I muttered. "Dill-weed's coming."

"Sorry, Fangles. It's the only way."

"We could just 'accidentally' kill him," I suggested hopefully.

"Yeah, and consequently get Max the Wackjob at our throats."

"She wouldn't have to know."

"She'd find out, and you know it."

I sighed. "I guess."

"So what about the girls?"

"Haircuts for all of them, super-short for Nudge, bleach for Max, and brown dye for Angel."

"Contacts too."

"And should we grow out our beards?"

"Yeah, I call goatee!"

"Fine," I laughed. "As long as I get to punch Dill-weed in the nose."

"I like the sound of that, though I'm not sure what good it would do."

"Break his nose. Un-straighten it."

"Ah, I see," Iggy grinned. "Fun _and_ effective."

"Exactly."

"Well, I'm going back to sleep for a little bit. You should too. We have to build up our energy."

"Okay," I replied. Wordlessly, I dropped my head to the pillow and slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p><strong>Short and not-very-sweet! But I still want reviews. Pleeease.<strong>

**Dylan: WARNING TO READERS: I'M A DICK IN THE NEXT CHAPTER.  
>Sarah: Yeeeah, he is :3<br>Dylan: It's her fault.  
>Sarah: Yeeeeeeah, it is :3<br>Dylan: Sarah's suuuper happy, by the way.  
>Sarah: Yeeeeeeeeeeeah, I am :3<br>Dylan: It's because of a certain guy.  
>Sarah: Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah, it is :3<br>Dylan: ME!  
>Sarah: Noooooooo, it's not. 3:<br>Dylan: Liar.  
>Sarah: Nope.<br>Dylan: Whatever.  
>Sarah: REVIEW!<strong>

**WAIT! LAST THING: There's a poll on my profile regarding the fate of Angel in this story. It's veeery important, so you might want to check it out. Okay, I'm done!**

**183+ Reviews: I'll update a year from #183  
>184+ Reviews: I'll update six months from #184<br>187+ Reviews: I'll update two months from #187  
>192+ Reviews: I'll update two weeks from #192<br>197+ Reviews: I'll update one week from #197  
>202+ Reviews: I'll update one day from #202 (Special surprise for #200!)<strong>

**Mwa!  
>The Urban Spectacle<strong>


	13. Escape

**Aw geez, late again. Thanks for all of the reviews! GUESS WHAT? We reached 200! The 200th reviewer was ILuvFang and since they don't have an account, I wrote them a poem and put it in the chapter instead of PMing it. (: It's at the end. For now, READ!**

* * *

><p><strong>Fang POV<strong>

The door was shut securely behind us. I waited for the sounds of footsteps walking away before testing the door. It swung open with ease. I closed the door and nodded at Dylan, who said curtly,

"So, Fangy, how was your interview?"

"Fine, Dill weed."

"I bet you wish Max was there."

"Why would I want Max to be at my interview?"

"Don't avoid it, we all know the truth."

"What truth? The fact that I'm over Max? Five _years_ over her?"

"No, the fact that you're still in love with her."

I laughed. "I'm not in love with her. You're just in love with anything you can try to use against me."

"The only thing _I'm_ in love with is Max. And the same goes for you. But the difference is that she actually loves me back."

"Which she wouldn't if you weren't a freaky genetically-engineered mutant robot clone."

"Getting jealous?"

"Me? I'm using my indoor voice. You on the other hand are screeching like a banshee. Or are you just singing?"

"My singing could kick your acting's ass any day."

"Really?"

"Really!"

"But Dylan." My voice softened.

"Um…what?"

"I have something I need to tell you."

"…Yes?"

"The thing is, I…I love you."

"_What?_"

"I know, it's sudden, but I couldn't keep it in any longer."

"You _love_ me?"

"Yes. I do. But there's one more thing I need to tell you." I took a step closer.

"What is it?" Dylan shrieked, taking a step back.

"Dylan, I…"

"Spit it out already before I jump out the window!"

"I'm acting."

"Huh?"

"That was _acting_. I'm not in love with you! But you believed it!" I cackled. "Kick my acting's ass, eh? Kiss it more like."

Gazzy clapped.

"Bravo," Iggy cheered. "Encore! Encore!"

"All right, you caught me off guard."

"No, that big head of yours just couldn't disbelieve anyone who claimed to be in love with you. That, and my acting's boss."

"Boss? Really?"

"I only said it to prove I could keep a straight face."

"That doesn't even make any sense!"

"Oh, it does. You're just too stupid to get it."

"_I'm_ stupid? You're dating a ditzy self-centered Barbie doll!"

"No, I'm dating a _hot_ ditzy self-centered Barbie doll. And you're just dating a bitch."

Dylan took a step closer. "Don't you _ever_ call Max a bitch again."

"I'm not allowed to tell the truth?"

Dylan nodded at Iggy, who opened the door, before punching my jaw. I cast him my best death glare and tackled him to the ground. He struggled under my grip, but brought his left fist up to smack me in the eye. I grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand into his own neck, and he choked under the pressure. But he suddenly whipped his leg into my back and I fell off. He pushed his elbow into my chest and inned my right arm with his leg. He punched my mouth and I tasted blood, but I was immune to the pain. I smashed my left fist into his ear and he released me, gasping at the pain. I tackled him once more and twisted his neck.

"Say uncle," I growled.

"Never," he wheezed.

"Say it!" I twisted his neck further.

"Alright! Alright! Uncle!"

I pulled back and stared him square in the eyes. "Don't mess with me. Now go take a shower. You smell like a wet dog."

Dylan glared at me piercingly and walked into the bathroom to turn on the shower. Gazzy had rigged a timer in it so that it would turn off after thirty minutes.

I yawned. "I'm going to sleep."

"Me too," said Iggy and Gazzy simultaneously. Dylan walked out of the bathroom, silent.

"Ready?" I mouthed. Everyone nodded. I grabbed my notebook and we filed out the door. The girls were waiting. Angel pressed a finger to her lips and we followed her down the hall, after carefully closing the doors.

_Alright everyone. Fang is going to be the lookout since he can fade into the background,_Angel said in our minds. _I'll tell him which way to go, and if there's a scientist, he'll tell me and we'll hide. We have about two minutes until lights out, when no one should be in the halls. Airplanes will fly over periodically until about three AM, and we can use those to help conceal ourselves when we fly away. Got it?_

We all nodded and Angel gestured for me to go ahead. I tiptoed down the hallway.

_Go left,_ Angel informed me. I faded into the wall pattern and inched down. There didn't seem to be any scientists. I beckoned for the flock and they joined me. _Keep going until you get to '_salle d'observation.'

I checked the labels on all of the doors, and finally found it. I peered inside. It was empty. I opened the door carefully and entered.

Everything about the room brought sickening memories flooding back.

Rows upon rows of cots lined the walls, some of which were in use. In one corner sat a table adorned with syringes and liquid-filled bottles. A series of sheer drawers rested next to the table, filled with various torture devices. Two computers sat humming in the center of the room. And in all of the dismal mess, four large dog crates rested next to the cots. I didn't dare look inside them. A soft whimpering was heard as I strode across the room to the door on the other end.

Suddenly, the door opened. A female scientist with a clipboard whistled as she scribbled away. I faded into the background as the rest of the flock scrambled to hide. Most of them took a cot, but Angel had to make use of a not-so-empty dog crate. As she closed the door, it squeaked slightly and the scientist glanced up. Angel scurried to the back of the crate, alongside some experiment.

"Tais-toi, sept-vingt," she snapped. She sauntered over to a computer and began typing on the keyboard. After about a minute, a voice sounded over the loudspeaker.

_Attention Goldilocks, as a result of the flight patterns of commercial and non-commercial jets, we are now turning off all lights and sound in the facility. Have a good night!_

The scientist turned off the computer and whipped out a flashlight as the room plunged into darkness.

"Dormez-bien, laids," she said sarcastically, sweeping her light across the cots. It lingered for a moment on Nudge, but she shook her head and left the room.

My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. Angel came out of the cage and the rest of the flock rose from the cots. They followed me through the door, which led to an empty hallway.

_There are some stares that go straight to the exit at the end of the hallway,_ Angel said. _But we still have to be quiet._ She pushed me forward and I hurried to the stairs. They were wide enough that I could extend my wings and glide down. Finally, I reached a glass door.

_Come on,_ I thought. Within seconds, the flock joined me.

_This is it,_ Angel said. _Who'd like to do the honors?_

Iggy raised his hand and stepped forward. I held my breath as he pushed the door open. We filed out. I began walking forward, but Angel grabbed my arm and pointed to the right. A security camera hung above a window.

_Fly. Avoid the windows. You go first._

I rose to the air, dodging the occasional window. After thirty seconds of strategic dodging, I reached the roof. I landed alongside the rest of the group.

Angel pressed a finger to her lips and motioned for us to rise.

_Stay close to the roof, but be ready to take off when an airplane comes._

We hovered for about four minutes until a jet thundered over our heads, to which we shot into the air. Staying under its shadow we flew, keeping far enough away that we wouldn't get sucked into the propellers, but close enough that our silhouettes wouldn't show against the night sky. We followed the plane south until the cool climate faded into warmth, and the hot sun began to rise in the east. We descended, perching on some trees.

"I think this is safe," said Angel. "I can't detect anyone for miles. Let's get some sleep."

We leaned against the trunk of the tree and shut our eyes, slipping into dreamland.

* * *

><p><strong>PLEASE VOTE ON MY POLL IF YOU CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO ANGEL. IT'S ON MY PROFILE.<strong>

**Dylan: You're a freak.  
>Sarah: Oh, shut up.<br>Dylan: Whyyy?  
>Sarah: Because. You're annoying.<br>Dylan: I thought you luuuurved me.  
>Sarah: Is lurv a word?<br>Dylan: It is in my world.  
>Sarah: ...why does that sound so creepy?<br>Dylan: Because you're crazy. And paranoid.  
>Sarah: Both of those are true.<strong>

**ILuvFang's poem:  
>She loves Fang  Fang loves me / We're all sitting in a tree / My name's Max  
>Max is me  Fang is laying on my knee / He gets up / Says to me, / Getoutta my life, you're ugly. / So I say / Tears on face / You're an offense to my race. / ILuvFang says / Smiling big, / I love Fang, you're a pig. / So I died / Randomly / With my friends in a tree.**

**...this is why I'm not a poet.**

**Reviewwww! Pleeeease!**

**Mwa!  
>The Urban Spectacle<strong>

**OH! WAIT! I JOINED WATTPAD! Does anyone know what that is? Go to and search for me. My name is "TheUrbanSpectacle" WITHOUT spaces. I have the prologue of one story up and I'm working on Chapter 1. It's like FanFiction...but original stories...and better. My cover is AMAZING, just saying.**

**208+ Reviews: I'll update a year from #208  
>210+ Reviews: I'll update six months from #210<br>217+ Reviews: I'll update two months from #217  
>227+ Reviews: I'll update one week from #227<br>232+ Reviews: I'll update one day from #232**


	14. dsklkdfkjskd SORRY

**I think I'm officially late. I'M SORRY. But I published another story, which I can't possibly have an excuse for not updating on time. For certain reasons. Which are for me to know and you to POSSIBLY find out. Anyway, check it out while you're waiting, it's called Biohazard.**

**Love you guys!**

**Mwa!  
>The Urban Spëctacle<strong>


	15. DON'T SHOOT ME PLEASE

**Guys.**

**I'm HORRIBLE.**

**I'm horribly awfully terribly bad.**

**But I'm putting my MR stories on hiatus.**

**I'm soooo super duper sorry. But GUESS WHAT? IF YOU LIKE PANIC! AT THE DISCO, YOU WILL LOVE ME BECAUSE I AM ABOUT TO POST MY PANIC! STORY WHICH I AM ON A FREAKING ROLL WITH AND I'M ALREADY ON CHAPTER 7 AND I HAVEN'T GOTTEN WRITER'S BLOCK AT ALL! YEAHAHAHAHAAAA! PARTYYYYYYY!**

**So…yeah. I'm super sorry about What Could've Been, Where's Fang?, How I Became Maximum Ride, and Biohazard, but I am NOT abandoning them. I would NEVER do that. So for now, keep your eyes peeled for Idol.**

**But I need to make you understand something. Even if I continued WCB, WF?, HIBMR, and B right now, my heart just wouldn't be in it. I'm sort of in the middle of a P!ATD obsession right now, so what I want to write is a P!ATD story. By the time Nevermore comes out, I'll probably be back on my usual MR craze. So don't worry. My progress on my MR stories are just slow, so pleeeeease be patient.**

**I love you guys SO MUCH. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW.**

**Mwa! :*  
>The Urban Spectacle<strong>

**P.S. I love you.**

**P.P.S. I freaking love you.**

**P.P.P.S. Like, a lot.**

**P.P.P.P.S. Okay, I'll shut up now :3**


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